Untold Tales of MiddleEarth
by Artemis1292
Summary: The Fae, the mysterious, immortal race whose lands border Gondor and Mordor. Will they aid the men and elves in the war, or will they remain hidden, a myth. The story of three women, starts before the quest and then during, not a tenth walker c2008
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Sadly I don't own Lord of the Rings, so anything that Tolkien owns I don't. Also the first few chapters, sans the prologue were inspired by the first few chapters of Melika's story, A True Fellowship, so I don't own the basic structure of some parts.

**Author's Note:** Hi guys. Man, I keep getting side tracked from my other two stories. I was suddenly inspired last night, at midnight, no less, to write this. I've been meaning to write something like this after I read A True Fellowship by Melika (go read it! It's really good, although I am sorry to say I have yet to finish it). The section after the prologue is highly inspired by the first couple of chapters of that story (go read it already, you know you want to!), and then it will branch off into my own, hopefully original plot. Also, elvish translations are at the bottom. There are a few pictures on my profile, and if you see any that match my descriptions please send them to me!

For those of you who haven't read the books, Thorongil is a name that Aragorn used while serving under Thengal, king of Rohan, and Ecthelion II, steward of Gondor, from about 2957-2980 I believe.

I hope you enjoy!

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**Prologue:**

Two horses were slowed to a walk as they approached the River Hoarwell. Their keen-eyed masters had seen something glinting in the swift water and had planned on discovering the source. The pair of riders agilely leapt from the backs of their steeds before approaching the rushing river with silent steps.

"Tiro!" One of the two exclaimed, pointing into the river, the other muttered an oath in the same tongue, a language too eloquent for such words, before jumping into the shallow water and wading towards the cause of the sparkling reflection of sunlight. His companion waited tersely on the riverbank as he untangled the shimmering mass from the grasp of a willow's roots and hauled the limp body onto the shore. Identical sets of grey eyes stared at the unmoving woman below them before one of the two hastily began removing the shining armor that had attracted their attention in the first place.

"It's mithril," The one said as he laid one of the larger pieces on the ground.

"I've never seen anything like it," The other commented quietly, examining the decorated plating briefly, before kneeling and checking her pulse. "She's alive, but barely, we need to get her to Imladris."

He worriedly moved some of her dark hair off her face. Even in such a state, the mysterious woman was strikingly beautiful. Her skin held a sickly pallor that made her long, waterlogged hair stand out starkly against it. She had high cheekbones, finely arched eyebrows, and slightly full lips that had begun to turn blue from the frigid mountain water. Black, blue, and green bruises marred her flesh where it was visible beneath her garments.

"I agree," The first rider said before pausing in his removal of her stranger armor. "She has a serious abdominal wound, I do not think it was caused by a normal blade."

As he finished removing the last of the armor, the woman suddenly started awake, grabbing his arm in a bruising grip.

"Nanie? Escala rinea manthose? Ave soir!" Her voice was hoarse with misuse and the words sounded like utter nonsense to the two riders who stared at her in astonishment.

"Ú-chenion. Man pennich?" The figure to her left spoke in a tongue foreign to her.

Her feverish blue-grey eyes swept back and fort between the two before she swayed and fell backward; she was caught by the rider to her right as she descended towards the ground.

The first rider picked her up and was surprised by how light she was, even so drenched in water.

"What is she?" the other asked, standing and moving alongside his companion. "She is not Elven-kind, neither is she of man." He moved some of her hair behind her ears, revealing delicate points, similar to elf ears but different.

"She is one of the Fae!"

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Year 2969, the Third Age (50 years prior to the journey of the fellowship)

Ecthelion II, Steward of Gondor, along with 30 Gondorian soldiers, and the captain, Thorongil, as well as the grey wizard, Gandalf, rode deep into the Forest of Mysts to have council with the inhabitants. Ecthelion, being a man of wisdom, sought to strengthen his land against the ever-dwelling threat of Mordor by forming an alliance with the powerful creatures of the woods, the Fae, or Faeries.

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Thorongil rode beside the Steward, his appearance was relaxed, but a well-trained eye could see the tenseness in his back, and the firm grip he kept on his blade. The aged man beside him looked neither left nor right as he confidently guided his steed through the trees. Behind the two leaders, the Gondorian soldiers were neither as calm nor as adept at hiding their unease. Their frightened whispers reached the men and front, but still they marched on and on through the murky woods.

More than an hour had gone by since the company had first passed into the unnaturally quiet forest. As far back as any one could remember it had been tradition that no man entered the wood on the Northern border of Mordor, yet here they were, walking long unused paths, breaking the thick silence with the stamping of their horses' hooves and the frequent whispers of the frightened men.

"They will be able to hear us long before we are within their borders." Thorongil muttered, refraining from casting a look back at the soldiers.

Ecthelion glanced over at his favorite captain and smiled a wry grin. "Yes my friend, but it cannot be helped. Are we not already on their lands?"

"Nay, my lord. This forest is a neutral land, a protective border. Their lands lie beyond the shadows of this forest, we will know when we reach them." Gandalf's reply to the Steward caused raised eyebrows amongst those who heard him, but Thorongil merely shook his head, muttering something about old men and riddles under his breath.

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True to Gandalf's words, the men knew when they had reached the lands of the Fae. The heat was the first thing they noticed. It was not the dry heat of the plains, but more like the heat of the coast, muggy and so humid you could almost taste it. The fog that gave the Forest of Mysts its name vanished as soon as they entered the alien realm, instead of receding gradually like it would have normally. On either side of the path the forest had become a lush, tangled jungle. Gigantic leaves reached into the open area, saturated with water. The place appeared to be steaming, the air itself was wet; sweat soon appeared on the bodies of the Gondorians, and they took to frequently wiping their faces to alleviate the dripping liquid.

Strange animal sounds could be heard in the surrounding greenery; unfamiliar bird calls, the occasional growl, followed by a shriek of some unfortunate prey, and the buzzing of large insects. Brightly colored flowers, with heads larger than the soldiers silver helms, perfumed the air with almost sickly sweet scents. The sky could not be seen through the overgrown plant life, towering trees and bushes formed a solid canopy overhead while thick vines hung down into the path.

"Mithrandir!" Ecthelion called out to the wizard. The grey clothed old man whispered a few words to his magnificent bearer, Shadowfax, Lord of all Horses, and the brilliantly white Meara slowed so that the Steward's horse could walk alongside.

"Tell me about the Fae." The Steward requested as they continued through the suffocating jungle.

Gandalf waited until Thorongil had come up on his other side before complying with the Steward's command.

"I suppose, if you were to compare them to the other races of Middle-Earth, the Fae are most like the elves, in both appearance and longetivity, but I would advise against mentioning such a comparison to either party."

"Why would it be so unwise Mithrandir?" Ecthelion asked, looking over at the wizard in confusion.

"The Fae hold no love for elves, and the elves hold no love for faeries. It is as simple as that."

"But Mithrandir," Thorongil cut in, "If the two races are so similar, how could they hate each other?"

"The similarity generally ends with the appearance and the length of life, other than that they are completely different, my young friend. Perhaps it is because of the similarities; perhaps it is because of the vast differences. I have never asked, as it has always seemed a delicate subject.  
Faeries, like any other people, find faults in all the other races, and things to respect in other races. Like the elves, they do not have faith in men, seeing their short lives as fragile and seeing the race, as a whole, as weak."

"Because of Isildur?" Thorongil interrupted again, sounding slightly bitter.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Do not forget that it has been more than an age since Faeries have had contact with men; perhaps you will be able to change their opinion. Now, where was I? Oh, yes! Like the elves, faeries share a natural dislike for dwarves, however, unlike the elves, the faeries have no quarrel with them and have been known to have dealings with them in the past. Though faeries have excellent craftsmen, no one can work with metal and jewels like the dwarves."

"But Gandalf, where would the get ore and uncut gems in a place like this?" The aged Gondorian Steward asked, wiping his brow.

The grey wizard laughed before answering. "Surely you did not think all the Fae lands were like this? No, no, my friend. This is the province of Jakarta (Ja-car-ta). There are 9 provinces, each with their own unique climate and land-type, and all are ruled by a Tenth City, deep in the center of the realm. We will be traveling to Silvana (Sil-von-a), it is much like the woods of Ithilien."

"So where do they do their mining?"

"The mining country is two provinces over, a place called Loew (Lo). The entire land is made up of mountains, rich in gemstones and mithril. Enough to make a dwarf weep"

The three chuckled at that.

"Do the faeries not like any of the other races?"

"I believe they would like hobbits, half-lings, if they ever had the chance to meet one." Gandalf said after a moments thought. "A young hobbit's nature is much like that of most faeries'."

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The men kept on for the next few hours, Ecthelion posing more questions about the faeries, and Gandalf answering in turn. They had been discussing the aging process when they reached the border of Jakarta and Silvana.

"Gandalf, explain to me how fairies age."

"As I said before, faeries, like elves, are immortal, so to speak. If nothing dire befalls them, such as an accident, or a fatal wound, they will live for eternity. However, like elves, they can essentially 'fade' from sorrow and heartbreak.  
When a faerie is born he or she grows at a much slower rate than a human child, retaining the look and capabilities of a babe for more than twice as long. Also, the carrying of a child is longer, and, like elves, there are very few true faerie children. The growth process is slightly difficult to explain, as all faeries grow at a different rate, but by the time they reach 100 most have the look of a young child."

"A hundred!" Ecthelion exclaimed in shock. "They look like a young child at 100?"

"Yes, a rather long childhood isn't it? After that they generally grow 1 human year, in appearance, for every century."

"So you're saying, that if I see a lad of about 10 years of age, he's actually around 1,000?"

"Correct, though remember, Fae years are a different length from the rest of Arda. As I was saying, when a faerie reaches maturity, generally at about 2,000 years old, sometimes younger, sometimes older, they essentially stop growing physically. This is one reason they are called 'Averatos Sinue', 'Forever Young'. Ah! Here we are."

They had reached what was obviously a distinctive border. On their side of a small stream it was still a steamy jungle, on the other side a forest, very similar, as Gandalf had said, to Ithilien.

Gandalf led the way across the brook, followed closely by Ecthelion and Thorongil. As his horse scrambled up the slope on the other side, the Steward threw his head back, relishing the sudden, wafting breeze. The slight wisp of wind was a relief after the humid jungle of Jakarta. Behind the Steward and his companions, the soldiers could be heard expressing their relief.

A sudden noise from a group of trees on the left, something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle, caused the captain to whip his head around, searching for the source.

"Don't worry my friend," Gandalf's slightly amused voice broke his concentration. "They have been following us for quite some time."

Thorongil raised an eyebrow. They must be very stealthy, to have escaped his notice. Then again, this was their territory.

"How much farther till our destination?"

"We will reach the city of Cassilenne (Kas-ill-in) before dark."

They set out again, this time Thorongil would every so often see a flitting shadow amongst the trees on either side of the path.

Their surroundings looked more natural, and yet they were still different than anything any of them had ever seen before. The wood felt old, and though the air was clear and not musty, there was a feel of closeness. The grass was green and lush beneath their feet, cushiony, with a layer of moss underneath. The trees towered far above their heads, filled with tiny blossoms of all different shades of orange, yellow, and red. The leaves also were the color of autumn, yet there were none on the ground. It was almost as if time had been frozen at the peak of the turning foliage.

"I've never seen leaves so vibrant!" The Steward exclaimed as he stared up at the brilliant canopy.

"You could say that Silvana is the land of eternal autumn," The grey wizard mused in response. "The leaves and flowers are always these colors. Once a year, during our spring, all of the trees drop their foliage and blossoms at once, and the ground is covered in a blanket of red, orange, and yellow while new buds burst into bloom in the trees. The petals have been known to fall for days, causing a beautiful, colorful rain. The faeries that live in this province gather during that time for a festival called the Ravinae l'Areon, it has no direct translation, but it essentially means Celebration of the Fireflowers. There is lots of dancing and singing; they also serve a rather interesting drink called Areona, which is made from the nectar of the flowers."

"Interesting in what way Gandalf?" Thorongil asked, a crafty grin on his face.

"Just, interesting, exactly what it sounds like." The old wizard seemed a bit reluctant to answer.

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The sun was just beginning to set when suddenly the path before them widened considerably, becoming a road large enough to be comfortably occupied by a wagon or four horses moving alongside of each other.

The sunset was far more spectacular than any the Steward and captain had ever seen before; the colors seemed to flare out across the sky, far richer colors than the same sun had ever cast over Gondor.

Gandalf let them admire the blazing sky a moment before turning to the Steward.

"Would you be kind enough to have your men ride two-by-two?"

"Of course, but is there any particular reason? The road is plenty wide now."

"Yes, but we are not the only ones arriving for the council."

Ecthelion turned to one of his captains who was riding behind them and passed on Gandalf's orders. Not five minutes after the last men were in line, the unmistakable sound of several horses heading towards them from behind could be heard. Gandalf nodded at the Steward to halt the company, and he did so, turning in his saddle to watch for the unidentified riders to come into view.

Three horses suddenly sped around the bend in the path, one in front with two riding behind. The trio slowed to a measured trot as they drew nearer to the Gondorian company, this allowed Ecthelion and Thorongil to get a good look at their first faeries.

The figure in front was a woman, her skin a startling white that could have rivaled snow. In contrast her waist-long hair was raven-black; part of it was bound in intricate braids while the rest was allowed to flow freely down her back. Entwined within her dark tresses was a tiara of mithril, curving down to rest upon her brow and ending in the middle of her forehead with a dark red gemstone. Her eyes were dark and calculating, sizing up the men as she drew nearer. The clothes she wore seemed more suited for a colder climate; her long cape was made from the pelts of several animals, perhaps wolves or some sort of long haired deer, the clothes that were visible underneath the fur were a deep reddish brown color, embroidered with golden thread, and a thick leather belt, embossed with green, around her slim waist.

The horse she rode looked more like a warhorse than a palfrey*. It was a great black beast, with a gracefully arched neck and feathers** around its fetlocks. A decorative bridle was on its head, but there was no bit, instead the reins were connected to metal rings on the headpiece, and it didn't look as though she was using them. A light saddle, also seeming to be more decoration than useful, was on its broad back, barely visible beneath her thick skirts.

The two faeries behind her, another female and a male, were dressed in similar color and style. Theirs capes were quite a bit shorter and their clothes less embellished. Shockingly, to the Gondorians, both the male and the female were dressed in a cream undershirt, topped with a short russet tunic and wide leather belt, and, completing the outfit, dark brown pants and black riding boots. The female had long dark brown hair, while the male's blond locks had been trimmed short, ending around his pointed ears. Like the lady, both had unnaturally pale skin and astute, dark eyes.

The female's steed was dark bay with a blaze running down its noble face. It was of slighter stature than the lady's, but still put the Gondorian horses to shame. The male's was palomino in coloring, a little larger than his counterpart's. Their horses also had light equipment that seemed to have no purpose other than decoration.

Both carried identical banners, steaming behind them: a white background with a strange red symbol within a black circle, and red and green flowers woven along a crisscross of gold for a border.

"Lady Eirlys***, princess of Gaenor . As this realm is always autumn, hers is always winter."

The lady had nearly reached the head of the company, completely ignoring the blatant stares she was receiving from the men. As she passed Gandalf she met his eyes and gave him a respectful nod, which he returned, ignoring the raised eyebrows of his companions.

The company stood there for a moment as the beats of the three horses faded into the distance. The initial spell that the three figures had woven over the Gondorian expired after they were out of sight.

"Well, that was most, interesting. Do they all look like that?" Ecthelion managed to ask as they set off once more.

"Each province generally has their own specific features, though there are exceptions. Since it is so cold in Gaenor, the people there are almost always completely covered when they venture outside, therefore they are extremely pale."

Once again approaching horses interrupted their conversation. This time the men were a bit more prepared for the small group that preceded towards them, slowing down in the same way as the last three.

Once again a woman led the triad. She had finely chiseled features, and was pale, though not as much as her predecessor. She almost looked as though she had been carved from marble; her blue eyes were cold as stone as she observed the men in front of her. Her long hair was pale blond and was tied into one long braid, with several tendrils framing her face, and wound into it was a tiara identical to Lady Eirlys's in every way, save for the jewel, which was light pink. Instead of clothe raiment; this lady wore a bodice of mithril plating and a matching chain mail skirt with a pair of leather boots to complete the outfit.

The grey horse she rode was far smaller than the large steeds of Gaenor. It was sturdy, though, with strong legs and a well-proportioned body. It looked rather like a larger version of the ponies the dwarves used in the mountains, and was most likely as sure-footed and agile. The trappings that decorated he horse were solid black, with what might have been mithril thread decorating the edges.

The two faeries who followed her were both male this time. They looked as though they were taller than the woman in front of them, but the lady carried herself with higher bearing. Their faces were expressionless as they rode behind their charge, their green eyes never straying from the path ahead. Like the male that had passed before, they too had short hair, one with black, and the other brown. They wore mithril chain mail under their black tunics, and had dark brown leggings and boots.

They rode steeds similar to their lady's, except they were larger to accommodate for their higher stature. The black-haired male rode a chestnut while the other rode a black. While they had the same conceptual design in saddles and headgear, neither of the males' horses had the silver lining that the lady had. It was quite clear who held the higher status.

"Lady Órlaith*, princess of Loew."

She and her small entourage passed by without so much as a glance, urging their horses into a swift canter once more as soon as they had passed.

"Are all of their leaders female?" The Steward asked as they started off again.

"Yes, actually the have a very interesting government structure. Each province is ruled by a princess, and the princesses are in turn ruled by one queen, who resides in the Tenth City. Each ruler is descended through a royal bloodline. When an heir is born, and yes, it is always a girl, the ruling Lady continues to govern until either they are unable to because of something, such as death, or until the heir has reached full maturity, at which time the Lady will be relieved of her duties and her daughter will take them over. This way the same person is not ruling a province for eternity."

"But could they just not have a child?"

"They could, but they would be risking the end to their bloodline, and I can assure you they would not want that."

"I see, please continue."

"Well, the duties of the Lady fall into two positions; one, as a politician, she must govern her people and go to councils, such as this one, and the second position is commander of the army." At Ecthelion's speculative look Gandalf paused in his monologue. "You must not forget, more than half of the Fae soldiers are female. The princess is technically in charge of the army, she leads them into battle and fights along with them, but for situations such as this, and in case she is unable to lead, there is another, a Commander who takes charge for her. The Commanders will be governing each individual province at the moment, in the absence of the true rulers. It is quite a bit more complicated than that, but we would be talking all night if I were to explain it thoroughly."

Yet again approaching hoof beats tore through the comfortable silence that they had settled into.

This time, however, it was only one horse and rider, and they were coming much faster than the others. Unlike the other six, this rider didn't slow down until she had reached the front of the column, where she pulled her horse up so quickly it slid several feet before coming to a standstill.

"Gandalf!" She called out, sounding pleased, as she turned her horse and headed back to where the company was once again halted.

This girl was far different from the others. Her skin was golden brown instead of pale, and her long hair looked like molted gold as it flowed down her back. There were turquoise decorations spread throughout her wild mane of hair, and the same tiara as before dipped down to her forehead, holding a yellow gem in its frame. Her eyes were bright blue and lively, they seemed to be dancing as she gazed fondly at the old wizard.

Her clothing could only be described as scandalous by the Gondorians; she was wearing a sleeveless blue top that was held up by cords winding around her neck, and it got more and more translucent the further down her abdomen it went, finally ending just above her midriff, exposing a few inches of her stomach. Her matching blue skirt hugged her hips, and only went down to right above her knees, showing an unseemly amount of golden skin. Soft leather boots adorned her feet, and matching vambraces protected her arms.

Her horse, also was different than the other previously seen varieties. It was smaller than the Gaenorian horses, but larger in stature than the equines of Loew. It was also sleeker and more delicately built than the others. Its neck was gracefully arched, ending in a dish-shaped face with widespread intelligent eyes. This horse was built for speed and endurance.** It was black in color, which set off the striking turquoise and gold tack and tassels it wore.

"Kilana (Kee-la-na)! My dear child, it warms my heart to see you again!"

"And mine to see you my friend." He smiled at her as she stopped her horse next to Shadowfax.

"Was there something you wanted, or were you just stopping to greet me?"

"Well, actually…"

The wizard sighed.

"What do you want this time Kilana?"

"You wouldn't happen to have any of your fireworks with you?"

As Gandalf began to say 'no', the golden faerie hastily interrupted him.

"I just need a small one! To use for a starter signal!"

"A starter signal for what?" The grey wizard asked, staring at her suspiciously.

"Well, Adraestia and Aerawyn wanted to have a race."

"Again?" Gandalf sighed as he reached into his voluminous pockets.

"Oh you know, sibling rivalry and all." She said good-naturally as she waited for him to retrieve the desired explosive.

"I'm more surprised that you're not back there with them."

She shrugged before replying, her eyes lighting up again when she saw a long, thin rocket in his hand. "Well, they needed a starter, plus I felt no desire to embarrass them in front of the gigans. (Gee-jins)"

"I would think that Cadoc and Grwn would be better suited to these conditions than Agrona."

The faerie didn't reply that time, merely shrugging in response and reaching for the firework. Gandalf however pulled it away from her grasp.

"I will be the one to set it off." He told her firmly as she pouted.

The wizard looked to the Steward, as if waiting for permission, and when he met no resistance he lifted his staff towards the rocket, and with a few well-chosen words sent the missile soaring into the sky, where it exploded minutes later, lighting up the darkening sky with a brilliant display of colored sparks.

Kilana clapped her hands in delight as she stared up the fading lights.

The distant pounding of hooves brought the group's attention back to the two mysterious racers. Suddenly a pair of identical horses swerved around the bend, sharp hooves digging into the soft turf as each rider fought for the lead. They seemed to be flying towards them, running at speeds that were in no way safe with the terrain and lack of light.

As the two horses neared and were passing them, Kilana suddenly shouted at the riders. "Change of rules! First one to Gandalf wins!"

One of the riders exclaimed what was more than likely an oath in the Fae tongue before trying to stop her horse and turn. Thorongil and Ecthelion tensed, their eyes wide as the other horse and rider lost their balance at the sudden turning stop and nearly went crashing into the ground, saved at the last moment by the rider throwing all her weight to the other side. The rider who had cursed was already turned by that time and was charging back towards the wizard and the other faerie. The other recovered and was immediately on the tail of her opponent. Both horses slid to a stop beside Gandalf at almost the same moment, kicking up a spray of dirt as they did so.

"Kilana!" One of the two shouted, whipping her hood off her head as she did so. "Don't do that! You can't change the rules like that when we're about to finish!"

"Why not, in a battle do you think the orcs will play by the rules? We have to always be ready for split second actions and decisions."

"I guess your right." The girl laughed, her smile washing away the angry expression.

"It was rather brilliant of you, Dreya would have beaten me had you not." The other said.

"What are you talking about Wyn, I did beat you."

"I beg to differ." The still hooded girl contradicted as she reached up and pulled the cover from her head.

Thorongil's eyes widened once again. They were exactly alike, mirror images of one another, perhaps even more alike than Elladan and Elrohir, and that was saying something.

Their hair was long and dark, though it was difficult to tell in the lack of light, if it was black or brown. They were not as tan as Kilana, but they were darker than the other faeries. Their eyes were an interesting combination of blue and grey, sometimes more of one, and then suddenly more of the other when you saw them in a different light. The same tiara as the other Ladies graced both their brows, ending in identical dark blue stones.

The twin faeries were dressed far more conservatively than their friend, in fact their garments was considerably similar to the clothing of wood-elves. They were wearing a pale, long-sleeved undershirt with a long, darker-colored tunic over top. In the fading light the colors were a bit difficult to see, but it looked like a smoky-blue color with silver embellishments. Covering their legs were leggings a bit darker than the undershirts, and leather boots that ended a few inches below their knees. Leather vambraces protected their lower arms, and they wore long cloaks on their backs.

The two horses were nearly as identical as their owners, both were golden buckskins with black points on all four legs. They were larger than Kilana's horse, and looked similar to Elvish horses, and Mearas. Unlike Kilana's horse, they were not completely covered in decorative trappings and tassles, rather they bore only simple leather tack.

The three faeires were conversing with Gandalf in hushed tones, using their native tongue either out of preference or to prevent eavesdropping. After a moment the wizard nodded and the three faeries smiled, looking pleased. The immediatly spun their horses around and galloped away, one of the twins raising her hand in farewell as they headed around another turn in the path.

Gandalf watched them fondly as they dissapeared beyond the trees.

"Those were three of my closest friends," He began as they set off once more. "Kilana, the lesser dressed, is the Lady of Ciel (Si-el). It is a desert, which is why she wears such clothing. It is unbearably hot except for a few months out of the year when it rains everyday, if she and her people wore garments like the ones you are used to, the heat would kill them.  
The other two, if you hadn't noticed, are twins. Adraestia and Aerawyn of Illyon (Ill-ee-on). They both command their province, one taking solely the diplomatic route, the other the Commander of the army. When Illyon was first established, in the first age, there were also twin ladies, so the second tiara was already crafted for this generation. This is only the second time that there have been twins in a royal bloodline, as it is as rare for faeries to have twins as it is for elves."

As Gandalf finished speaking the rounded the last bend in the path, and were met by a stunning visage.

"Behold! Cassilenne, capital city of Silvana!"

The city was surrounded by a high wall that seemed to be made from intertwined trees. Large orange flowers decorated the grey branches at intervals, and green ivy had crawled up the wall over the years. The gates to the city curved at the top until the reached a bit higher than the walls. These elegant entrances opened slowly, seemingly of their own accord, as the Gondorian company approached.

A lone figure was standing beyond the opening gates. As they neared they saw it was yet another fae woman. She was tall and graceful, with honeyed skin and soft eyes the color of hazel. Her light brown hair fell below her waist, and two strands, one on either side of her face, had been braided and pulled back. Little orange and red flowers were entweined in the braids, and a mithril tiara with an orange stone was wound into the tresses.

She was wearing a orange dress that flowed down to the floor in elegant folds, and trailed behind her several feet. The dress was held up by straps of cloth, several inches wide, which then became a translucent orange material that covered her arms like sleeves, draping past her hands.

"Lady Cerridwyn (Sare-id-win)***, princess of Silvana."

The lady curtsied gracefully when they were within speaking range.

"Greeting and welcome to Cassilenne."

Gandalf smiled at her as he dismounted, signaling for the rest of the men to do the same.

"It is an honor to be here milady."

She nodded her head to him before turning and walking into the city. Gandalf and Shadowfax led the way for the others, passing through the gates and following the princess to the steps of the palace at the center.

Thorongil and Ecthelion stared about them with awe. The city gave off an almost ethereal feeling. Glass lanterns, blown in the shape of flowers, hung from the trees and buildings, creating a purple glow as the light from the orange flames combined with the the blue reflections from the colored glass. The buildings, like the walls, appeared to have been grown from the trees themselves. No one was in sight, but the captain could feel the heat of many eyes gazing at them from the trees. The ground was completely carpeted by a thick growth of moss. The sound of running water could be heard as they approached the palace, and the men were surprised to see a clear, trickle of water running down from a group of trees and into a small pool at their base. It was utterly peaceful, and it brought a sense of calmness to the nervous Gondorians.

The lady paused and turned around as they reached a grand building, far larger and more decorated than any of the others. She looked to Gandalf and began speaking quickly in the Fae tongue, with which he responded.

Gandalf turned to Ecthelion. "The Lady says that your men will be shown to their quarters and the horses wil be taken care of accordingly. You, Thorongil, and myself will be given time to freshen up, and then we shall be joining the esteemed guests at a banquet."

"Very well," the Steward said, passing on the information to one of his captains. "We would be delighted to join you for dinner."

The lady smiled and nodded her head before waving some other faeries over. They seemed to melt out of the trees as they silently approached. They were garbed similarly to the lady, the females in flowing dresses of different colors, though orange was more frequent, and the males were either in long robes or the occasional tunic and leggings. A few of them gestured for the Gondorians to follow them while the others attended to the horses, taking them in another direction.

Gandalf, Ecthelion, and Thorongil followed the lady as she turned and proceeded up the steps. They reached the top after a moment and were guided into the massive building. The palace was open and airy, the winding branches, trunks, and roots that made up the walls allowed a constant breeze to flow through the bulding. More little streams occasionally ran from the roots of one of the trees, pooling into small, carved basins, where some faeries could be seen gathering water.

"Cassillene is filled with underground springs." The Lady stated as she saw what they were looking at. "We have found ways to channel the water to certain areas, such as the guestrooms so that there is always a supply of freshwater at hand."

She led them through countless hallways before stopping in front of a series of doors. "Yours," she waved her hand towards Ecthelion. "is on the right. And yours on the left." This time she gestured towards Thorogil. "You will find that your packs have already been brought in. A servant will come for you when it is time for the banquet to begin. Your usual chamber has been prepared Mithrandir." She curtsied to them once more, and left with Gandalf at her side.

"Well, I suppose we should prepare."

"Yes my lord." So saying, Thorongil entered his room.

The chambers design was the same as the rest of the building, open and airy with a crystalline stream bubbling up from the ground. The bed was a spacey nook in the wall, filled with cushions and pillows as well as a light blanket. There were a few chairs and a table with a bowl of what looked to be fruit sitting by one of the windows, both of which had a roomy window seat. His packs had been placed by an open archway leading to what he assumed were the bath chambers.

Thorongil explored his room a bit more before discarding his cloak and sitting down upon one of the window seats. It reminded him of Rivendell, with its openness, agelessness and simplistic beauty. Orange was apparently Silvana's color as it seemed to be a recurring theme.

He shrugged out of his light armor and decided to put off the inevitable, walking over to one of his packs and rifling through it in search of his finer clothing.

Half an hour later a faint knock was heard at the door.

"Just a moment!" Thorongil called as he quickly surveyed himself in the provided mirror.

His shoulder length dark brown hair was neatly groomed, and his facial hair freshly trimmed. He was wearing a black tunic with the white tree of Gondor on his breast. A light chain mail shirt rested under that, and he wore a fresh pair of leggings and black boots.

Opening the door, he found himself face to face with a faerie woman, and beside her was his Steward. They walked the way to the banquet hall in silence, admiring the Fae palace.

They were joined by Gandalf just as they made it to a large set of doors, and were asked to wait as the faerie woman entered the hall through a side door. Suddenly the doors were opened, and they were once again met by Cerridwyn who waved them forward before addressing the occupants of the banquet hall.

"My honored guests, it is my privilege to introduce our last three arrivals, though one of them is known already. I present to you Lord Ecthelion, Steward of Gondor, and his captain, Lord Thorongil, as well as our dear friend, Mithrandir!"

The faeries who were seated at the tables looked up in interest at the new comers. Cerridwyn gracefully showed them to their places at the nearest table before returning to her own place at the table across from them. The tables had been arranged in a square so that talking between them would be easier, and so that everyone could see everyone else. Lady Eirlys and Lady Órlaith were seated at the table to their left. Between them was another lady. She had dark olive skin, even darker than Kilana's. Her hair was dark and cut short, falling to her shoulder blades. It had been pulled back into twin braids and was bound with leather and beads, and was decorated with feathers. A mithril crown with a purple gem stood out starkly against her dark coloring.

Her clothes seemed to be made of animal skins; a cape from the hide of some sort of spotted animal, and a short top was visible, similar to Kilana's except that it was made from skin and had short sleeves at the top. Underneath the table her pants were visible. They were made from the same material as her top and fell to mid-calf. Her shoes were moccasins and were decorated by beading and more feathers.

"Lady Akeisha (A-kee-sha), princess of Jakarta." Gandalf told them as he saw where they were looking.

On the other side of Lady Órlaith sat another. She had long flaming red hair that fell like waves down her back. It was unbound, saving for a few locks that were wound into her tiara, which held a blue-green jewel. Her skin was pale, but not overly so, and she had a dusting a freckles across her face, giving her a youthful look. Her eyes were clear blue, they danced in the light as she talked animately to Órlaith, who amazingly was showing signs of light.

She was wearing a short sleeved blue-green dress that was light and flowy, falling only to her knees where it spread out in a wide skirt. Unlike the others she wore no shoes, but went around bare footed.

"That is Lady Taliesin, princess of Muireann. Her land borders an inland sea, and her people are famous for their sailing skills and seafood.*

At the table to their right sat Kilana, Adraestia, and Aerawyn, their heads bent together in deep discussion. Also at that table, excluding the other dignataries, was another Lady.

She had long strawberry blond hair that was halfway pulled back, and entwined about her tiara, which held a green stone. Her skin was fair, but dark enough to suggest that she spent a lot of time outdoors. Her eyes were bright green and lively, though astute.

Her clothes were similar to what the royalty of Rohan would wear, a long, dark green dress with draping sleaves and gold emellishments. She most likely wore leather boots, but her feet were hidden by her long dress.

She had been sitting, merely watching the rest of the room, but she had been drawn into conversation by the twins, and they were now all four talking quietly amongst themselves.

"Lady Róisín, princess of Rhydderch. It is a land very similar to Rohan, they also are famed for their horses."

Lady Cerridwyn sat at the table across from them on one side of an empty chair, another lady sat on the other side.

"That is Lady Nerys, princess of Glyndwr. The entire province is made up of river valleys, with towering waterfalls and cities built over the water.

She had dark chestnut hair, styled much like the elleths of Rivendell, with part of it pulled away from her face and twisted into braids, while the rest hung loose down her back. Her tiara ended with a light blue gemstone that rested in the middle of her pale brow, above her blue eyes.

Her long robes were rich in color, dark hues of blue, green and brown, the colors of a river. The material appeared heavy, but was of unmatched quality.

Thorongil's observations were cut short as the room suddenly fell silent. Lady Cerridyn had stood once more.

"Lady Rhiannon, defender of the Tenth City!"

The nine seated princesses rose to their feet, their right hands over their hearts and heads bowed. Then she entered the hall.

Thorongil could not help but stare. As Arwen Undomiel was said to be Luthien Tinuviel reborn, surely this were Elbereth herself!

Her skin was as pale as Lady Eirlys', and her long, wavy hair was midnight black. She appeared absolutely flawless, words could not do her justice. Her grey eyes were lively and ageless. The mithril crown upon her head shown as a star within her dark tresses.

As the Lady Galadriel shown with the golden light of the sun, the Faerie queen shown with the brilliance of the stars.

She wore a shimmering gown of deep violet that faded to a lighter purple as it descended to the floor and trailed behind her. She wore no jewels, but she did not need them, she was radiant without any.

"Be seated." Her voice was soft and deep, a melodious sound that Thorongil had never heard before, and doubted he would ever hear again.

And with that the food was served and they spent the rest of the evening eating and drinking till they could touch no more before retiring to their chambers to sleep and prepare for the next day's council.

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**Author's Note:** Well, I hope you enjoyed it. Please review and tell me what you thought! I'm not sure when the next update will be out, as I'm now working on three stories, so I tried to make this one long. It was about 15 pages when I uploaded it, and now it's even longer!

*A palfrey was traditionally a lady's mount back when women weren't allowed to ride stallions and spirited horses, its pretty much an everyday riding horse that is reliable and calm.  
**Not real feathers! Think of a Clydesdale or Friesian, the big workhorses, all that hair around their feet is referred to as feathers  
*** Welsh name. It means snowflake, I thought it appropriate. Gaenor is also Welsh it means white.  
* Irish name. It means gold-princess  
**Think Arabian horse  
***Welsh name, means fair-poetess  
*Irish name that means sea-fair

**Translations:**

Tiro = Look

Ú-chenion = I don't understand.

Man pennich = What did you say?


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Finally got this up, there will be one more chapter before it connects with the prologue scene from the last chapter. This one starts out a bit slow, but picks up a little way down. Next update should be up fairly soon.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Lord of the Rings

* * *

Thorongil woke feeling more refreshed than he had been for a long while. A sweet scent filled the room, eliciting a growl of hunger from his stomach, a bowl of assorted fruits sat on a small table near an opening in the intertwined branches that made up the wall, presumably a window. An unfamiliar tune drifted in on the air through the opening, the unseen minstrel skillfully twisting notes into a hauntingly beautiful melody. There was a strange feel of peacefulness about the place, as though he were still asleep and were dreaming a particularly pleasant dream.

A sharp knock on the door of his chamber quickly pushed that idea from his head, and he strode to the door and opened it, revealing a cheerful looking Gandalf.

"Thorongil! Good, you have wakened! Come now, the customary greeting will take place momentarily and then the Council, and I am sure you will not want to miss it." The wizard spoke quickly but good-naturedly as he pulled the much younger man from his room, not giving him time to retrieve his sword from where it lay next to the alcove in the wall that was his bed.

The wizard led him through hall after twisting hall, past uncountable Fae, maids in flowing orange robes, soldiers in clothed in greys and greens, guards in deep orange tunics and leggings.

Eventually the odd pair reached the main hall of the palace, where they had supped the night before, though now the long tables that had been heavily laden with plates and food were no where to be seen. Some of the Ladies were gathered together discussing some matter in voices to low to be heard. The remaining few, Taliesin, Nerys, and Róisín appeared minutes later, Taliesin laughing brightly as she skipped jovially between the other two.

Finally the Steward joined them, walking at a leisurely pace while flanked by two of his guards.

"Good morn to you my friends." Ecthelien said with a nod.

"Good day, my lord." Thorongil replied with a slight bow.

The large doors at the opposite end of the hall, that led to what Thorongil assumed was a throne room of sorts, suddenly swung open, a dull boom sounding through the hall. The Fae Ladies ceased their conversations and headed to the now open room.

"Shall we?" The Steward asked before turning and walking after the faeries.

"Wait." Gandalf stopped Thorongil as he made to follow his lord. "Only the rulers, and myself, are allowed in the chamber at this time. You shall be admitted to the council, but we cannot break tradition.

Knowing better than to argue, Thorongil nodded and stopped his steps, watching as the old wizard entered the far room and the great doors slowly swing shut once more.

He was about to go seat himself by one of the springs when, to his immense surprise, he caught sight of one of the Ladies sitting near the wall examining a bright dagger. He walked to her and stood beside her, watching her a bit uncomfortably as she did not acknowledge his presence, but merely continued to run a slim finger over the shining blade.

She was one of the twins they had briefly met the night before. Her dark hair was freshly brushed and hung freely down her back, only inhibited by the mithril circlet upon her brow. Her traveling clothes had been exchanged for a silvery blue tunic and leggings, a deep blue cloak sung around her shoulders.

"My lady, if you do not mind you asking, why are not in the room with the others? Surely they will begin without you?"

She snorted and looked up, her blue-grey eyes meeting his own grey ones. "Did Gandalf not explain our ways to you? Only the rulers are allowed for the Greeting." She sighed when he still looked confused. "I command my country's army, not my country. That is my sister's duty."

"Forgive me, my lady. Would you mind if I sat with you? If past experience is anything to go by these things never pass quickly." He himself was a bit shocked by the bold request, but he found their race interesting and wished to know more about them.

The faerie merely shrugged and went back to playing with her knife.

They sat in silence for many a minute. Unconsciously Thoronigil began humming the sad tune of the song of Luthien.

"What is that you sing?" The faerie's sudden question startled him.

"It is an Elvish ballad, a song of Luthien, the Elvish maiden who fell in love with a human, Beren."

"She died, didn't she? Elves should know better than to fall in love with humans. They always claim to be the wisest of Middle-Earth, yet they choose to follow paths that bring only tragedy and pain for others and themselves. Either that or they are content to waste the years away by hiding in stuffy libraries and 'centers of learning'. They truly are a dull people."

"Some might say it is better to love briefly and die, than to live forever and never love."

He was surprised when she laughed. It was a merry sound that fell pleasantly on his ears.

"You are in love with an Elf, aren't you?" She accused, though did not look very put out about it.

"Of course not, why would you think such?"

She merely shook her head. "You love her, but you would not wish her to share the fate of this other maiden, so you shun her love. And in doing so you thwart your own philosophy. By denying yourself of your love, you will live to the end of your days in unhappiness, while she shall live for eternity without the one she loves."

"You know not of what I speak." Thorongil said shortly, a hard look in his eyes.

She laughed again. "You are still very young, man of Gondor." She regarded him for a moment, turning his face towards her with one of her hands, her eyes searching visage. "Nay, not a man of Gondor, a man of Numenor." Traces of surprise were in her voice.

"I am no such thing." Thorongil disagreed.

She frowned, her voice as cold as her eyes. "Do not insult me, son of the Dunedain. I may not appear old to you, but I am in comparison to you and your kin. I have already lived longer than you ever shall, have seen things you shall never see, and have done things you will never have the chance to do. So do not tell what is true and what is not. You might be able to fool men, but your very appearance betrays you. The Gondorians have not the dark hair and silver eyes, nor the regality upon your face." Her look softened. "Nor are men of common birth loved by those of Elven kind."

"Forgive me, I meant no insult." Thorongil asked, his headed bowed.

She smiled at him. "Worry not, I do not mind."

He was quite frankly confused by how quickly the Fae seemed to be able to change their moods. She had gone from bordering angry to jovial cheerfulness in mere seconds. They truly were very different from the Elves who were more often than not solemn and retrained in emotions.

She cocked her head suddenly, as though hearing some noise.

"Come, they are waiting for us."

She stood fluidly, her cloak trailing behind her as she stood before him, a slim hand extended towards him. He took it and she pulled him to his feet. Had he not been raised among the elves he would have been surprised at the strength of her grip and of her arm.

They walked together through a hidden side entrance to the room that he had not seen before as is was hidden behind a masterfully woven tapestry depicting a host of faeries astride mighty chargers, banners waving in the wind.

Upon entering the room, the Fae woman left him and strode on silent feet to where her twin sat, taking the empty seat beside her. As he had thought it was a throne room. Queen Rhiannon sat gracefully upon a throne made of silvery wood, her twilight gown flowing about her. A round table had been set before the throne, and around it sat the ten Ladies, along with Gandalf and Ecthelien. Thorongil joined his Steward and sat at his side, easing into the spindly looking chair but then relaxing when it turned out to be far stronger than it appeared.

"Now that we are all present," Rhiannon began, her lovely voice commanding attention from those gathered about the table. "We have much to discuss, you said that it would be best if you were to leave tonight, Mithrandir?"

The wizard nodded. "Yes, I think it best if we return the Steward to his throne before too much time has passed. People will grow suspicious and assume he has disappeared, never to return in the Forest, and that will cause trouble we must avoid."

The Fae Queen nodded elegantly and turned to Ecthelion. "My Lord Steward, what is it that you wished to propose to our council?"

Ecthelion cleared his throat and schooled his features before standing. "My honored Ladies, I would propose a Treaty between our two peoples. Living as we do, so close to the Black Lands, it would be beneficial to us all. In times of distress, if we were to need aid, or supplies, or soldiers, the treaty would ensure that should such a circumstance happen the unhindered party would send the relief needed." He ceased his rhetoric when Akeisha stood across the table, her hair untamed with its feathers and beads, her eyes sharp.

"We have lived near Mordor for Ages and have always held our own. It seems to me that this treaty would benefit Gondor more than it would benefit us."

"Peace, Akeisha, let the Steward finish." The Queen ordered. The jungle princess nodded and sat, a deep frown upon her ageless face.

Ecthelien continued to outline the plan for the treaty, including trade between their people, ways to keep reserve soldiers for the purpose of aiding the other, ambassadors, and so forth. All the while Rhiannon sat, a contemplative look on her face, her fingers pressed lightly together.

When he had finished, the Steward sat, awaiting the decision of the council. The Ladies had begun talking amongst themselves, some arguing.

Then one of the twins stood, Thorongil thought she may have been the one he had sat with in the antechamber, and he was sure of it once she began speaking for she had none of the diplomatically polite speech that the others had.

"And what if our people are engaged ourselves when you send for help? Will the old men, who sit safely behind the walls of your citadel and call themselves advisors of war while your soldiers die, call it a breach of the treaty, call us liars and oath breakers, curse our kind as yours is so wont to do?"

"It shall not be as you say, my lady. Even my advisors know that when another land if besieged it would be irresponsible of us to expect troops from them. If it suits your liking we can add to the treaty that aid be provided only if the providing country is at that time able."

"Very well." Spoke the Queen, her voice quieting the various conversations about the table. "We shall have a vote. All in favor of signing such a treaty say 'Aye', those against the idea say 'Nay'." She looked to her right where Cerridwyn sat.

The Faerie of the Autumn land appeared to ponder for a few minutes. "Aye."

Taliesin, Lady of the Sea was next. "Aye."

Then came Akeisha of the Jungle. "Nay."

Órlaith of the Mountains. "Nay."

Eirlys of the Winter land. "Aye."

Kilana of the Desert. "Aye."

Gandalf seemed to relax a bit at Thorongil's side. "The twins and she normally follow each other." He muttered almost soundlessly to the Captain.

Just as Gandalf had said, Aerawyn, the diplomatic twin, whose realm had not yet been revealed, followed Kilana with an "Aye."

After her was Róisín of the Plains. "Aye."

And finally Nerys, Lady of the Rivers. "Aye."

The Queen closed her eyes briefly. "It is decided then, the treaty will be signed. Mithrandir, I assume you have already written it up." She asked the wizard dryly, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow.

He chuckled while withdrawing a rolled parchment from his robes. "Ah, my Queen, you know me far too well I'm afraid."

The wizard placed the document on the table and unfurled it, revealing a a large amount of writing, written in elegant script. Riannon stood from her throne and approached the wizard, who in turn moved aside obligingly as she leant over the parchment and read through it carefully, her eyes skimming back and forth as she examined each line. When she finished reading through the treaty several times she took the quill that Gandalf had knowingly set beside her on the table. The nib made scratching sounds as it flourished across the paper.

The Queen straightened as she finished and handed the quill to Cerridwyn, who, after also reading through the document also signed it before passing the feather on to Taliesin and so forth.

Once all the Ladies, including Adraestia had signed the treaty, Ecthelien took the quill and signed, followed by Gandalf, and finally Thorongil, though he knew not why a simply Captain was permitted to sign such an important document.

"It is done." The Queen's voice rang out. "Our fates our now entwined unless one breaks this treaty, and then may doom fall upon the oath-breaker for their misdeeds.

An ominous feel swept through the hall, and Thorongil could not help but shiver.

"Well then." Gandalf broke the heavy silence. "As much as we would love to dine with you and spend another night in this lovely land, we must hasten back to Gondor." Rhiannon nodded and rolled the parchment once more before handing it to the wizard.

"I bid you a safe journey home, and as a token of my good will I shall allow you and your men to ride to ride some of our own steeds on your return, I'm sure you will find them a much swifter alternative to yours."

"I thank you for the favor, my lady." Ecthelien spoke with a bow. "But what of the horses we rode here?"

"Some of your men shall ride them, I'm sure you will find they will be able to keep pace."

"Very well, my Queen, and again, I thank you most assuredly." The three men bowed once more and left the hall, Gandalf leading the way to the outside world.

As promised, a hoard of Fae horses, most of which were dark brown and black in color and sleeker than the war-horses ridden by the Gondorians stood waiting in the courtyard, orange tack adorning.

"Mithrandir!" A voice called out from behind them.

Kilana and the twins were following.

"We will accompany you to the border!" Kilana said with a smile.

"Of course, my friend, I suspected as much when I spotted your horses dressed for riding on the far side." The wizard said with a smile, nodding to where the three horses from the night before were standing quietly in the shade of one of the numerous trees.

The Gondorian soldiers were milling about in groups, looking suspiciously at the visible Faeries and at the horses.

Thorongil heard Ecthelien sigh beside him.

"Silly superstitions." The old Steward said with a shake of his head.

The three strode down the steps, the Ladies behind them walking off to the side.

Gandalf immediately stepped up to a great black stallion with highly intelligent eyes, a great horses, unbridled and with no saddle, Shadowfax having already returned to his fields in Rohan till the wizard called for him again.

"_Leveinœ, atä Lôthinor, cen nui_." The wizard said softly, stroking the great horse on the forehead. "This is Lôthinor, most prized stallion of Silvana." Gandalf said to Thorongil who had approached slowly from behind. "Come now, we must be off."

Ecthelien mounted his own steed, and Thorongil followed with his, a lovely mare who stood patiently as he swung onto her strong back. The skittish soldiers followed their leader's example, and soon enough the company was mounted and ready to ride.

"Safe journey, my friends." Cerridwyn's soft voice came from the stairs where she stood, her dress flowing around her as the wind played with its light material. "_Avonë, byna nvryn._"

Gandalf bowed to her from his position on Lôthinor before signaling for the great horse to turn and led the way out of the city, past many faeries, some in sight, others watching from the trees and shadows.

The twins and Kilana soon joined Gandalf at the front, chatting amiably as the horses surged into a gallop and the whipped through the peaceful forest. Hardly any time had passed before they reached the bubbling stream that marked the border between Silvana and Jakarta.

"How have we reached this place so swiftly?" Ecthelien asked in amazement as they allowed the horses a brief drink from the crystal liquid.

"Our horses race on the wings of the wind." Aerawyn said with a smile. "When we have need to get to a destination quickly they run all the faster."

On and on they ran, through the steamy jungle of Jakarta, finally reaching the Faerie Realm's side of the Forest of Mysts as the sun dipped down behind the shadowy trees.

"We shall guide you through the myst." Adraestia informed the Steward as she and her sister took the lead. "It is manageable during the day, but too easily confused at night."

The twins entered the misty forest, their hands, Thorongil noted, constantly resting on their swords as though expecting some sort of attack from the fog.

"Is there some sort of danger we should be wary of?" He asked the golden faerie on his left.

She turned to him with a disturbing chuckle. "Did you really think the Myst is all that keeps our border safe from intruders? There are some things, hiding within the darkness of this wood, guardians, that even some of our own people are too afraid to face. Never take ancient places such as this for granted, they are filled with dangers you cannot comprehend."

Thorongil looked ahead once more, but now his hand also rested upon his well-used blade.

The rest of the journey was spent in silence, the horses no longer galloping, but walking through the wood, picking their way silently through the murky land.

Then, just when they had begun to despair of ever finding their way out of the barrier land, a dim light appeared in the distance, followed by he gradual appearance of what could only by Pelannor Fields. Excited murmurs broke out amongst the men as they drew nearer. And then they reached the edge of the wood.

"I bid thee farewell, my Ladies." Ecthelien said with a bow of his head before dismounting from the Fae horse and striding out of the woods, waiting just beyond the border for his men.

"Captain." One of the twins stopped Thorongil as he went to follow the Steward. He raised an eyebrow but walked after he as she strayed a bit away, aware of Gandalf's eyes on them.

She stopped a little ways away. "_Ah, Aragorn, nol da Arathorn, vin tessë avani, ené paça mæven_." She smiled at the expression on his face when she whispered his true name to him.

"Someday you shall see us again, Aragorn, someday we shall fight side by side, we will vanquish our enemies as they try to extinguish the dwindling light of goodness from these many lands. When we meet once more, it will not be in a time of peace, but that of the war we have all been dreading, for it is inevitable that it shall come to pass, and it is in that time that the true king of Arnor and Gondor must call upon the treaty, for I fear without the good races of Middle-Earth, evil will prevail."

"How do you know who I am?" Thorongil asked.

She merely smiled. "Mortals do not see us, but that does not mean we remain hidden away in our realms. We watch, we observe. Be at peace, son of Numenor, for it shall be many of your years before we meet again." And with that she turned and walked away, the soft _swishing_ of her clothing, the parting swirl of the mist the only indication that she was moving at all.

He stood a minute more, pondering her prophetic words before following her once again and leaving the forest to join Gandalf, the Steward, and the soldiers.

"It hardly seems as though we were there at all." Ecthelien said in wonder as they stood, bathed in the soft moonlight at the edge of the wood.

"We should continue." Gandalf suggested, turning towards the city.

A distant pounding of sharp hooves on the grassy plain sounded the arrival of the gleaming Shadowfax.

"Greetings, my good friend." The wizard whispered to the Lord of Horses, mounting. Thorongil and Ecthelien had already reclaimed their own mounts, and thus they set off for the White City, on the far side of the Plains, torchlight barely visible in the deepening darkness, a strange nostalgic feeling enveloping the company, the Faerie Princess's words still ringing solemnly in the Captain's head as he rode beside the elderly Steward and ageless wizard.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Good? Bad? In-between? Let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **See, faster update, even if it's not as long as I would like. There are a couple of things that I'm tweaking in this chapter, for instance, according to what I have written, the Loudwater and the Hoarwell flow South to North, like the Nile. This is incorrect, but otherwise I would be taking far too many creative liberties with how quickly horses can run, and which direction certain characters went. One other thing was that I'm making the assumption Elrond sent messages to the Dwarves and Men that there would be a council before Frodo makes it to Imladris, though it still occurs after he has recovered, on the 25th of October. I think that's about it, sorry about the long note, and enjoy!

* * *

**September 3018, the Third Age – Province of Rhydderch**

The harsh clanging of iron on mithril shattered the normally peaceful sounds of Rhydderch, the smell of burning grass choked the air. Adraestia of Illyon wiped a splatter of black orc blood from her face and snarled with a feral grin at the cleaver-weilding Uruk before her. "Haahh!" She cried as she charged the larger brute, brandishing her mithril short swords with practiced ease, one taking off his head the other ramming through his gut. Immediately there were two more of the creatures upon her, both taken care of just as efficiently. The cries and sounds of battle surrounded her as she cut through the orcs and Uruks, more blood spraying over her body and shining armor.

A few yards to her right Kilana of Ciel was rampaging through the monsters, her wickedly curved scimitar destroying them as quickly as they came upon her. Adraestia's sister, Aerawyn, was somewhere in the fray, but not in sight.

They had come upon the forces of Mordor in Lyrn, one of the few wooded areas of Rhydderch. The twins, along with Kilana had been called in to aid Rhydderch when the country was being over-ridden by the orcs, the horse-soldiers not able to withstand the constant battering on their own.

A horrendous force slammed into the Faerie, knocked her into a tree. She twisted around and plunged one of her swords into the Uruk. Below her lay a green-clad soldier of Rhydderch, her blond hair caked with black and red blood, some of which still leaked from the massive gash across her head. Her glassy hazel eyes stared blankly up at Adraestia, a trickle of dried blood ran from her open mouth, and more oozed from the deep stab-wound in her chest. One of the thousands who had died in the last fifty years. Another who had died defending her land. It wasn't right, Faeries were immortal, they were meant to live forever, and here was a girl, perhaps not even a thousand, her life cut short.

"_Taro liyt!_" She growled at more orcs poured from the trees.

"What's your count?" Kilana's laughing voice called out to her, the golden faerie dodging between orcs, their dead bodies dropping to the ground moments later.

"I lost count after 50, they never seem to end!" Was her slightly breathless reply. Faeries normally didn't tire easy, but they had been fighting since mid-morning and it was already well into the afternoon.

"Have you seen Wyn?" She asked, wondering where her sister was.

"No, she was over by the cliffs the last time I caught a glimpse of her."

Adraestia dodged an Uruk body as a Rhydderchian captain dispatched of it, his shouted apology lost in the sounds of battle.

Suddenly the girl she had been searching for made herself known when she ran past, swords swinging in the air.

"Dreya! There's a messenger in trouble, just over the ridge! He needs to get through!"

"On it! Lana, take care of these boys will you?" Adraestia called to her friend, the desert princess grumbling at the new wave of orcs.

Adraestia sprinted through the trees, stabbing the orcs that blocked her path as she went, desperate to reach the messenger.

His horse went down as she reached the ridge, the mare squealing an agonized whinny before dropping, five black arrows in her neck. The messenger was thrown, landing in an ungraceful lump on the ground, three orcs immediately upon him. Adraestia yelled a battle cry before jumping into the fray, killing two immediately, but not getting to the third before he had stabbed the messenger in the thigh, deep red blood pouring from the gash when the knife was ripped out.

"We need to get you to safety, come on." She said, reaching to help him to his feet.

"No need," he rasped, his voice thick with pain as the leg wound continued to leak blood. "They're almost all gone."

It was true, in her frantic rush to get to the messenger she hadn't noticed that the number of orcs rampaging through the wood had lessened, now only a few remained. Other than the screams of the injured and dying, the forest was unnaturally quiet. And then came a sound that sent a shudder through her body and made her ears ring.

"_Grzajugl!_ Ringwraith!" She spat, drawing her swords and searching the area for the owner of the terrible shriek. Before she chased after the creature, she pulled a knife from one of her boots and tossed it to the stricken messenger.

"My Lady!" His shout reached deaf ears as she ran through the trees, following the black-shrouded form in the distance. She came upon a horse standing over its fallen master and leapt to its back, whispering words of her haste to the intelligent animal before resuming her chase. On and on they ran, the evil shrieking making her skin crawl, yet she would not desist.

Back with the messenger, Kilana and Aerawyn had finished killing the remaining orcs, their shining blades cover in a thick coating of black blood.

Aerawyn found the messenger where he still lay by some young trees, the blood finally staunched, though he was overly pale.

"You! Where is my sister?" Aerawyn demanded, grabbing his tunic.

"There was a Wraith, she chased it, heading Northwest."

Aerawyn cursed. "We need to follow her, she'll get herself killed."

"Wait, my lady, please!" The messenger cried, grasping her cloak tightly as she went to move away.

"I must tell you, there is to be a council, in Rivendel1! Dwarves and men are to journey there and meet with Elrond, though the reason is not known." He fell back against the trees.

"Save your breath, you have done well, we will have someone get you and take you to the Tenth City, where you must inform the Queen, do you understand?"

He nodded.

"Come on, Lana, we need to save my stupid sister."

"We can't, Wyn, we have to regroup and get word to the Queen."

"Kilana, she's my sister, she's my twin! I can't just let her die!"

"I know, but she is already far ahead, it is illogical. Adraestia can take care of herself. Besides, there is a chance she will not catch it."

"You know she will, Lana, you know how she's like when she sets her mind to something."

"At any rate we need to return to the capitol and inform the Queen of this council, then we shall go after Dreya."

"Very well, but if anything should happen to her, may it rest on your conscience." The faerie's pretty face disfigured by a scowl.

They found horses and returned with haste to Rhovana, the capital city of Rhydderch.

* * *

Adraestia had been chasing the Wraith for going on four days. They were deep in the Misty Mountains, the foggy crags for which the mountains had been named making visibility difficult, even for the well-endowed eyes of the Fae. Neither she nor her horse, a well-bred steed of Rhydderch had eaten aside from the odd snatch of grass and a few berries. She was tired, and hungry, and sore, the various injuries from the battle in Lyrn not having had time to be taken care of or healed. Finally she had tracked the Wraith to the cliffs above the Loudwater River, and here she had trapped it.

"Stop, fiend!" She growled, jumping from the horse and drawing her swords.

The wraith hissed as her and dismounted, drawing its own wicked blade.

"Where is it you go and what is your purpose on our lands?" She asked of it, keeping a good distance away but blocking its escape. Faeries, like elves were far more resilient to the Morgul blades than mortals, but a bad wound or a cut left untended would be fatal, and she had no wish to endure such a painful death.

It shrieked at her, making her wince as the cruel sound assaulted her sensitive ears, and then it charged, her short swords brought up in front of her face just in time to block the brutal attack. It struck at her face with its fist, the sharp armor cutting into her cheek. She spat out the blood from her mouth where she had bit her cheek with the force of the impact.

The wraith continued its onslaught driving her backwards towards the cliff while she parried as fast as she could, getting in a strike when she could. But her movements were sluggish with her exhaustion, whereas the wraith was fresh and far stronger. Had the sun been shining brightly she would have had an advantage, but the gloomy mist that blocked the friendly light of the sun only served to strengthen the creature of evil.

She spun her blades and struck again, driving one blade into what should have been the wraith's body, but it had no effect, and instead she felt an icy burn against her lower torso. She looked down as they stood interlocked, a thin dagger was held in the wraith's left hand. It had been slashed across her stomach where her light armor did not reach, dark red blood already welling from the wound. She gasped against the painful sensation of the Morgul poison and stumbled backwards, the wraith continuing to push her until she stood at the edge. Her vision was swimming, the freeing chill was spreading, and she continued backward until there was nothing but air beneath her feet.

And then she fell.

The wraith stepped over to the edge and its head bent down to look, its eyeless hood black and empty. Adraestia was clinging to the cliff-face, her face white and covered in a pained expression. She had dug a knife into the cliff and was hanging from it, but she was too far down to hope to pull herself back up. The Wraith shrieked again, swiping at her with its scared blade, but it could not reach.

"Wyn," Adraestia whispered shaking her head, her right arm trembling from the effort of holding onto the dagger, which had begun to slip through the dirt, her weight dragging it down. "Wyn, I'm sorry."

She let go of the dagger, falling to the frothy river below and disappearing with a splash, the force of the fall and the icy blast of water throwing her into an oblivious unconsciousness as the current carried her away.

* * *

Aerawyn stumbled as she and Kilana were escorted to the Mirror Chamber.

"Are you alright?" Her friend asked, blue eyes concerned.

"I think something's happened to Dreya." She whispered, panic edging into her voice. They were rarely separated and she had been distraught all day, the bond with her twin pulling at her.

"It's probably just the prolonged separation. Once we're finished with this we'll be able to set out after her."

"Lana, it's been four days."

"Yes, which is why another hour won't make much of a difference."

Aerawyn fell silent at they reached the Chamber. A single pillar adorned the room, filled with crystalline water. It wasn't truly a mirror, more of, well she wasn't sure what it could be called, but it was the fastest and safest way of communication between the provinces, though it didn't always work. Each capital city had one, and they were only to be used in times of great urgency. Some called it scrying, the way you could look into a bowl of water and see another place.

The Mirror-Keeper, a willowy looking woman with a translucent covering over her head and wise green eyes that betrayed her age stepped from the shadows, her grey dress flowing after her like a trail of mist.

"Who is it you wish to speak to?" The Keeper's soft voice echoed in the circular room.

Kilana and Aerawyn bowed.

"We must contact Lady Rhiannon, at the citadel of the Tenth City."

"As you command." The Keeper whispered, waving a pale hand over the water, her eyes closed in concentration.

The water rippled and then smoothed once more, and the Keeper retreated into the shadows to allow a private conversation.

Aerawyn and Kilana peered into the water, the ever-twilight sky of the Tenth City visible in the back of the open pavilion. Lady Rhiannon stood before them.

"Aerawyn, Kilana, why is it you call for me?" Rhiannon's enchanting voice asked, her expression curious.

"My Lady, we discovered a messenger today, he carried word of a council, in Rivendell. A gathering of Elves, Dwarves, and Men to discuss the fate of that which I dare not speak of."

The Fae Queen's eyes burned with a sudden fury. "And I suppose no missive was sent to our people?"

"Nay my Lady, nothing at all."

"When is this council to be?"

"The messenger did not know, but I would assume it to be fairly soon, a month or so at the latest."

"Then there is not time to gather representatives." The queen mused, frowning darkly.

"My Lady, if I may." Aerawyn asked tentatively, well aware of how quickly the queen's temper could turn.

"Go ahead."

"My sister left us four days ago, chasing one of the Nine in a North-Western direction. I intend to go after her immediately, and her course will most likely lead to the haven of Elrond. If, by the time of the council, I have either found her or not, I could stop at Rivendell and act as a representative of our people."

The queen appeared to ponder the idea for a moment. "Very well, but you will take Kilana and two others with you."

"Of course my lady."

"Now be off with you, there is no time to delay!"

The water shimmered and was once more clear.

"Come on, let's go." Aerawyn said sharply, spinning on her heel and striding purposefully out the door and into the corridor.

They went directly to the stables, finding to soldiers to accompany them on their journey. The first was a guard of Rhydderch, his name Lyander, his short hair sandy-blonde, and his eyes pale blue.

The other was a soldier named Cælenia from Gaenor, her jet-black hair straight and long, her dark eyes cold but with a spark of humor.

They set off from Rhovana, riding North-West and following the trail of Adraestia, which was growing cold.

* * *

It wasn't until the next day that Adraestia was seen and pulled from the Hoarwell by two elves. She wakened briefly, disoriented and in pain before the blackness enveloped her once more, a voice whispering unfamiliar words in her ear and the soothing rocking motion of a horse dulling the pain that spasmed through her body.

The elves raced on towards their home, stopping for the night when they were halfway there.

The elf that carried the injured faerie carefully slid her from his horse, landing her in the other's arms before he himself dismounted.

"What in Middle-Earth is a faerie doing this far north?"

"I don't know, but she's severely injured, she may not make the journey home tomorrow."

The first elf moved the cloak they had wrapped around her body in an attempt to keep her warm.

"This is a Morgul wound, I'm going to go find some Athelas, you try to find out what else is wrong with her."

The other elf nodded and carried her to where his brother had set their bags, laying her gently on the ground and quickly building a small fire before tending to her other injuries.

There was a massive bruise on her right cheek, a long but shallow cut through the middle. Her skin was mottled with smaller bruises.

He felt along her torso, avoiding the deep gash. She jerked as he lightly ran his fingers over her ribs. Broken, most definitely.

Some time later the other elf returned, a clump of Athelas clutched in each hand.

"Anything?"

The elf who had stayed with her shook his head, raven locks swinging gently. "Nay, she's not stirred. From what I can tell she had several broken ribs, and aside from the stomach wound and the cut on her cheek all she has are bruises."

The other nodded and retrieved a small pot from their bags, filling it with water from a stream that trickled beside the campsite and setting it over the fire to boil.

"I thought faeries had wings." He mused, looking at the girl curiously.

His brother turned her over carefully and lifted the back of her shirt to reveal a smooth back that was only discolored by bruises and a few old battle scars.

"Nothing."

The elf by the fire shrugged and dropped the sprigs of Athelas into the hot water, a pleasant aroma leaking into the air. He dipped a clean cloth into the water and then pressed it against the girl's wound, his brother holding her still as she moved away from it.

They remained awake through the night, their elven heritage allowing them to go without sleep for long periods of time. The girl did not stir from her unnatural sleep, nor did she move aside from the listless stirring of her eyes beneath their lids and occasional incomprehensible mumbles.

They set out the next morning as the day dawned pale and chilly, the land quickly transgressing towards winter as October was upon it.

The elf who had carried the injured faerie the previous day once more took her in his arms, cradling her against him as his stallion charged across familiar ground. His brother took both their bags onto his own mount and led the way to Imladris.

They reached the stretch of cliffs and valleys that so carefully hid the Elven-Haven from unwanted visitors about mid-day. Carefully the picked their way through the winding paths, taking care to traverse the faster and easier ways to accommodate for their unexpected companion.

Finally they came to the narrow bridge that led to the entrance, their horses' nimble feet easily crossing the spindly path. The gates of the city smoothly swung open, allowing them entrance, and they sped into the city with hast, not stopping until they reached the Last Homely House, where their father dwelt.

"Fetch our father! Quickly!" One of the brothers called to a passing servant, who immediately ran off to fetch her lord.

They dismounted, the unburdened elf aiding his brother in letting the faerie down from the horse without jostling her.

As the brother who had been carrying the girl reclaimed her, their father appeared in a flurry of heavy robes, his ancient grey eyes concerned and confused as he rushed to see what his sons needed of him.

"Elladan, Elrohir! What has happened?" Elrond, Lord of Imladris asked the elves before him, looking at the still female form in Elrohir's arms.

"We found her in the river, father." Elladan explained as Elrond led the way to the House of Healing. "Yestermorn, we saw her armor glinting and investigated. She has a bad wound from a Morgul blade, and several broken ribs."

Elrond looked concerned. "A lone woman in armor, and a Morgul wound. Who is she?"

"We don't know." Elrohir said from his other side. "Father, we think she is of the Fae."

The Lord of Imladris nearly faltered in his steps. "A Faerie? Why would a Faerie be so far north? Are you sure?"

"Yes father, she is neither of man nor elven-kind, and never have I seen such armor as hers."

"Did you bring it with you?"

"Nay, we had not the time and did not want to weigh our horses with unnecessary weight, though we did take the time to conceal it."

"That is good, you shall need to retrieve it if possible."

"Of course, father."

They reached the House of Healing and Lord Elrond led the way to secluded room, plain but elegant, with a single window overlooking a walking path. Elrohir gently placed the prone girl on the bed and stepped back, standing beside his brother while their father examined the Faerie.

"Elladan, go find either Arwen or Muindor and tell them to fetch some hot water and Athelas."

The older twin left the room to do as his father wished.

"Will she be all right?"

"I can not say, it is a bad wound, though the river will have washed it. It depends on how strong she is. I'm sure Mithrandir will have the answers we seek, but we must wait for his return."

Elladan returned, the chief healer, Muindor, in his wake with the requested materials as well as fresh bandages and other necessities.

The Lord and the Healer set to work, shooing the twins from the room, and replacing the old bandaging and Athelas with fresh sprigs and cloth.

All the while the girl on the bed lay deathly still, not knowing where she was or where her sister was.

* * *

Aerawyn and Kilana diligently followed the five day old trail, searching for any sign of Adraestia, but there was nothing but the tracks. Aerawyn could not shake the feeling that something was wrong, and for once she prayed to Eru that her instincts were wrong.

* * *

**Author's Note:** It might be awhile before the next update, I really only have time to write on weekends because of school. Luckily I pretty much know what the next chapter will be, so maybe within a week.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **This isn't going to have much in it, which is why it's shorter, it's pretty much just a lead in to the next. So, I made a little date error in the last chapter, just pretend that it was in early October instead of late September, otherwise the actual timeline won't work. In case you're wondering, the inspiration for Dreya's dream is the song Oceanus by David Arkenstone.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Lord of the Rings.

* * *

**18 October 3018 – the Third Age**

Four cloaked figures rode deep into the Misty Mountains, following a trail that was swiftly growing cold. They had been traveling for nearly five days, barely stopping for rest and food so urgent was their mission. And then the trail finally ended.

Aerawyn removed the cobalt-hood from her head, peering about the area they had come to. The lonely place was unnaturally still, as though holding its breath. No warmth from the sun invaded the chilling shadows, no birds twittered in the forlorn branches.

A faint glimmer caught her sharp eyes and she dismounted, Kilana following while the other two remained where they were, keeping watch on the way they had come.

Aerawyn knelt near the underbrush and pulled the dully shining object out from the tangled bushes, her heart plummeting. It was one of her sister's short swords, or what was left of it. The once beautifully crafted mithril bade was blackened and twisted, as though it had been left in a furnace and mutilated before being carelessly cooled. Its mate lay farther back, though it was untouched and retained its splendor.

She felt her friend lay a hand on her shoulder in comfort. There was no sign of her sister, not a scrap of cloth or pool of blood.

The two Faeries searched the small cliff for clues to the whereabouts of the missing girl, but aside from scuffmarks in the gravel and the short swords, there was nothing to say that Adraestia had been there at all.

Their horses' heads suddenly shot up, as though hearing something, and the two girls on the ground drew their swords, while the mounted faeries readied their bows, prepared for danger. Twigs snapped and dead leaves crackled as something moved in the little grouping of trees that hugged the face of the cliff.

But instead of a Ringwraith, or horde of orcs, a Fae horse stepped from the sparse trees, its eyes wide and nostrils flared.

"Whoa there, lovely." Kilana whispered, slowly approaching the frightened horse, her hand outstretched.

The nervous creature perked its ears and walked toward her, reaching out its nose to sniff the offered appendage.

"This must be the horse Dreya took." Aerawyn mused, the worried expression never leaving her face. "But what is it doing here? Our horses never leave their riders, whether they be injured or dead, unless another faerie has use of them."

"Perhaps she is here then. Where is our friend? Can you show us?"

The horse snorted and pushed the two faeries to the edge of the cliff. They looked down, scanning the river, trying to see if Dreya could be on the rocks far below.

"Wyn!" Kilana suddenly exclaimed, pointing down the cliff face.

The plain hilt of a dagger protruded from the rock and dirt, it was Adraestia's.

"She must have fallen," Aerawyn growled while standing. "Which means we'll have to search every inch of the river to find her. Let's go."

And with that the company of four left the forlorn ridge, the fifth horse in tow, down to the river and off in the direction of Rivendell.

* * *

_It was a strange feeling, dreaming. Most of the time Faeries didn't dream, their sleep deep and restful. But she was dreaming, most likely because of the damage sustained by her body and the extended period of unconsciousness. She felt as though she were floating listlessly in the Sea of Myrindös, the current caressing her body, the echo of the waves soothing her mind. It had been decades since she had seen the ocean, been to the underwater caverns of Muireann. The caverns were strange tunnels with air pockets, allowing one to walk beneath the depths, to gaze up into the turquoise waters of the sea. Glittering shells were encrusted in the walls, and fish and other creatures swam by the bubble windows, the concave openings distorting their appearance so that they seemed to shimmer across. It was an utterly peaceful experience, where one could lay on the sandy floor for hours watching the water swirl overhead and creatures swimming leisurely past._

_That was how she felt as she lay deep within her mind, dreaming of nothing, merely existing._

* * *

"Has she wakened yet?"

Elrond was worried, Fae or not, any injured person brought to Imladris was to be treated equally. The Faerie had been lying still for five days now, her long dark hair fanned out beneath her, her skin pallid, her eyes moving beneath their closed lids. A sprig of Athelas was always sitting beside her, its healing aroma wafting through the room. Her bandages were changed twice a day, and a broth spoon-fed to her every few hours to ensure she was sustained. But still she would not wake, her body unmoving. She appeared pale and fragile, a mere child in the Elf Lord's eyes.

Gandalf had reached Imladris only that morning, and upon hearing news of the stranger Elrond's sons had arrived with, had immediately asked to see her.

"Nay, she has not moved at all these past days."

The wizard sighed, shaking his head. "Ah, Adraestia, why must you always get yourself into such trouble?"

The Elf Lord looked at him sharply. "You know her?"

Gandalf grumbled. "Know her? I practically taught her everything she knows, aside from how to make mischief, she was born with that unfortunate ability."

"Who is she, Mithrandir? And what is a Faerie doing a days ride from Imladris?"

"Adraestia is a Fae Lady, one of the ten who serve directly under the Queen, and the Commander of the armies of her province."

"A Commander? But Mithrandir, how could such a young looking girl be the commander of an entire army?"

"Do not forget, Lord Elrond, she is as immortal as you and your kin. She, and her sister Aerawyn, govern the province of Illyon. Where normally one Lady would have both the political and tactical responsibilities, relying on a Sub-Commander, the duties are split between them. Aerawyn playing the diplomat, and Adraestia the warrior, an equal balance. As to why she is so far north, I wouldn't put it past her to have been chasing after the Wraith who struck her down. She's far to rash, doesn't think things through."

"So why has she not woken? Her ribs are healing, as is the wound from the Wraith's blade. An Elf would have been awake by this time."

"She could be in a healing sleep, her mind shutting down to allow her body to heal itself. Or perhaps she is merely asleep and will wake when she can sleep no more."

"But her eyes are closed, does that not mean she is still severely injured?"

"Nay, all Faeries sleep with their eyes closed, one of the distinguishing differences between your races."

"And what of wings? The old tales all make reference to wings sprouting from the backs of the Fae, and yet there are none."

At this the wizard chuckled. "Faeries only get wings when they have bonded with another, it is a way of showing that they are claimed."

"Ah."

"Yes, now let us go see if we can have some water or something of the sort brought for her."

The two left the room, and as soon as the door shut behind them, the Faerie's eyes opened slowly. She had been stirred awake by the familiar voice of Gandalf, and that of a stranger, talking near her. Not wanting to face the wizard's wrath at her irrational behavior, Adraestia had remained in her guise of sleep until they had taken their leave.

She slowly began to sit up, but the pain of her broken ribs halted the attempt and she fell back on the soft bed with a gasp, her eyes smarting. She refused to cry, she had not done so for many centuries, not since her mother and father had passed into the Halls of Mandos.

The ceiling above her was plan, a light, creamy color with splays of sunlight shining across it, leaking in from the window at the far side of the small room. The coverlet on the bed was soft and warm, and she was undeniably comfortable, but still she wished to get up from her confines and walk about. She was far too restless to be bed-ridden, Aerawyn had often scolded her when she was found polishing her weapons when she was supposed to be resting from some injury. It never suited her to stay in one place very long. Of course, she could remain motionless for as long as needed, particularly on a scouting mission, but then their was the adrenaline and the risk, here in the safety of what had to be the Elf-Haven, Rivendell, she was dangerously bored.

Soft footsteps approaching, and the creaking of the door opening prompted her to resume her position and shut her eyes, feigning sleep as some Elf entered the room and place a tray on the small table beside the bed.

She peaked an eye open as the door shut once more. A bowl of broth and goblet of water rested on the tray.

Adraestia tried to stave off the temptation of the food, but the gnawing hunger in her belly and the enticing scent of the broth soon had her carefully sitting up and dipping the wooden ladle into the bowl. She hesitantly sniffed at the thick liquid and took sip, the strong flavors of meat, carrots, tomatoes, and an assortment of other vegetables assaulting her tongue. She hastily ate the rest of the broth, a feeling of disappointment overwhelming when the ladle came up empty, the bowl wiped clean.

Next she turned to the water, her mouth a bit thick from the broth, quickly taking a long sip before freezing, suddenly catching an unfamiliar taste in the clear liquid. She didn't have time to curse the crafty old wizard before the sleeping draught took over her senses and she collapsed back onto the bed, the goblet falling to the floor with a dull clatter.

No sooner had the goblet settled, the door to the room swung open once more, the wizard, along with Elrond and his curious sons, entered cautiously, wary of the apparently asleep Faerie.

"I see you were right, old friend." Elrond said with a heavy sigh as he carefully shifted the girl so she lay flat on her back and wouldn't damage her healing ribs. "But did you really have to drug her? I'm sure she would be much more cooperative if she were not forced into unconsciousness."

"No, Elrond, this is one case where you must trust my judgement. Adraestia is probably the worst invalid you will ever meet, she will not stay in bed no matter how extensive her injuries, and she wreaks the worst havoc imaginable when bored." He frowned at Elladan and Elrohir's matching expressions. "And no, you will not be allowed to test that theory under any circumstances."

* * *

Another two days had passed, filled with back tracking and false appearances, and still there was no sign of the missing princess.

Aerawyn bore a grim expression on her lovely face as they continued their fruitless search. She was not one to admit defeat, yet their quest seemed hopeless, and she knew they would soon have to turn in the direction of Rivendell, for finding the House of Elrond could prove difficult, it being careful hidden in the gullies. She knew her sister was still alive, she could feel it, deep within her heart, the bond with her twin fueling her hope and strength. She just hoped Adreya would be able to hold on long enough for them to find her.

They had reached the place where the Loudwater ran into the Hoarwell, and Aerawyn had chosen to follow the Hoarwell fork instead of the other river, feeling that it was the path to Adraestia.

Not an hour later Kilana spotted something glimmering faintly in the distance, and they pushed their tired horses to reach whatever it was the golden Faerie had spotted.

Aerawyn's heart sunk to the bottom of her stomach when she recognized the metal pieces a long way off, there was no mistaking the armor, even at that distance, for she wore the same design herself.

They slowed their horses and Aerawyn and Kilana once more dismounted, edging near the abandoned armor carefully, watchful for any suspicious alterations to the area. The shining metal had been carefully hidden in the underbrush, but there were no footprints and no sign of Adraestia.

"Where is she?" Aerawyn asked, her voice breaking as she ran her fingers lightly over her sister's armor.

"I'm sure we'll find her, Wyn, I'm sure she's fine."

"My lady!" Lyander's sudden exclamation drawing the princesses' attention to where he was, kneeling by the ground. "Look, my lady, hoof prints."

Aerawyn quickly approached him, Kilana following in her wake.

The two knelt beside him and examined the faint hoof prints in the dirt.

"Horses, two of them, several days ago, maybe a week." Aerawyn muttered, carefully examining the prints.

"We're lucky it didn't rain. Look, Wyn, they're unshod, which means they have to be elves, no dwarf or man would ride an unshod horse, and certainly not two of them."

Aerawyn set her jaw and followed the fading trail of prints with her eyes. "This means Dreya must be at Rivendell, which is where we must go."

Kilana nodded in affirmation.

The two carefully packed Adraestia's armor into some spare bags and secured them to the fifth horse, where her swords also rested, before setting off again, following the trail of prints until they ended and left the small group of Faeries to traverse the cliffs and gullies unguided in search of the hidden city of Rivendell.

* * *

_She was dreaming again, this time of Gaenor from when she was much younger. She was lying out in the snow, some ways from Nyiesle, the sparkling capital of the ice-land. A frozen stream was ahead of her, its glistening surface sparkling in the light of the sun. Thick snowflakes fell softly from the sky adding to the already deep layer that covered the land in white. She lay on a hide rug, staring out at the stream and the trees, listening to the silence, wondering if this was what life would be like when she was finally called to the halls of her forefathers. This ethereal peace, this wonderful loneliness. It was enchanting, just lying there, strange perhaps, but it felt as she were in some other world, a peaceful world all of her own, a place where she could hide away. _

_The stillness was broken by the crunch of moccasins on the crystal snow, the melodious voice of her mother asking her why she was off by her lonesome, the warm embrace of her mother's arms. When she turned around her mother stood before her, bundled in soft fur against the cold, her golden hair falling in waves down her back, the mithril crown of Illyon resting gracefully on her forehead, its deep blue stone twinkling in the soft glare of the sun. Laughing grey eyes glimmered at her daughter, and she pulled the small girl into her arms, smiling when the youngling curled against her, suddenly chilled from the cold. _

_They had walked back to the palace where her strong, dark-haired father sat in their room, in front of the cheerful fire, Aerawyn sitting happily on his lap as he enthralled her with tales of battles and romances from long before._

_It was one of the last times they had been together, a wonderful, happy family. A cherished memory given back to her in her dreams._

_

* * *

_**Author's Note: **A bit faster than I expected, but I've been sick so I had a bit more time. I needed a leeway chapter into the next one, so here it is, I've been waiting to write this next one for a while now, so I'm wondering how it will turn out. Thanks for reading and don't forget to review!


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Well, I would have had this up a few days ago, but I couldn't upload it for some reason. This will be the last update for a little bit, I'm leaving for Mid-Winter Break in a few days and won't have time to write, plus I plan on finally reading Children of Hurin. I will probably redo this chapter eventually, I'm not completely satisfied with it, though perhaps it's alright. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Lord of the Rings or anything that belongs to Tolkien

* * *

**October 24, 3018 – the Third Age**

Cold blue-grey eyes bored holes in the ceiling of one of the rooms in the House of Healing. A permanent scowl seemed to be fixed to the owner's semi-pointed face as she stared up at the quaint Elven architecture. She had been trapped in that room for who knew how many days before she had woken the first time, six days before.

Three days ago, or perhaps four, there had been some excitement in the halls of the building when she had finally roused herself from the herb-induced slumber a certain crafty wizard had forced upon her, but she had only caught bits of conversation, something about a 'Halfling', whatever that was, and a 'Morgul Wound.' From what she figured some poor devil had had a run in with the Wraiths, perhaps even the one who had managed to defeat her. That thought soured her already bad mood and she growled in the back of her throat, ready to kill something.

Her stomach rumbled gently and her scowl increased. The blasted wizard had managed to drug her again soon after she had regained consciousness, and since re-awaking, again, she had refused to eat or drink anything the elves had left in the room, much to the consternation of Lord Elrond and the other healers, none of whom she had actually met. She had head their voices as they stood beside her bed, but she had always feigned sleep until they left her to her own devices, not that their was much she could do while confined to the bed.

Though she was loath to admit it, the extra sleep, whether wanted or not, had indeed sped the healing process. She had been able to take a few shaky steps the evening before, careful not to wander to far in case one of the healers decided to check in on her.

Now she had had enough. The sun was shining brightly through the window, and she could hear the sounds of birds and water, and the faint, melancholy strums of a harp. It was late morning, or perhaps late afternoon, at any rate the Elves were probably at midday meal.

Adraestia slowly raised her self from the bed, taking a moment to listen carefully, making sure no one was around. After a bit she continued, the wretched gown they had put her in swishing annoyingly around her legs. It wasn't that she didn't like dresses, in fact she had several back in Illyon that she was rather fond of. But they were impractical, and the Elvish healing gown was scratchy and uncomfortable, not at all like the slippery-smooth silk, or the unbelievably soft material from the weavers of Glyndwr. She yearned for her tunic and leggings, but they were nowhere to be seen, and had probably been disposed of.

Once standing she looked around the room. The door was of no use, she had heard them slide a bolt into place, probably on the advice of the wizard. She made a mental note to get back at him for his 'help'. There was not much in the room, just the bed, a small table, and a single chair. It was sparsely decorated, little intricate carving along the panels and such. But there was a window, an unbarred window.

She teetered over to the opening and looked out, relishing the feeling of the sun on her skin. A river flowed lazily by, a lulling sound emitting from the small stretch of rapids. Towering cliffs encompassed the valley, effectively concealing the Haven.

There was a wide walking path beneath her, trailing past the House of Healing and around a sharp bend, but it was empty. Multi-colored trees swayed gently in a silent breeze, and the place was filled with an aura of something, perhaps of the elves.

A thick swath of ivy hung about the window and fell all the way to the ground below. She examined it critically, trying to decide if it would bear her weight, and if she could scale it in her current condition.

Minutes ticked by, and she made her decision, not wanting to wait and let some silly elf find her up and about, or trying to escape.

Unsteadily swinging a leg out of the window, she sat upon the ledge and wrapped her long fingers into the thick vines, her ribs and stomach wound protesting at the awkward position. Slowly she lowered herself from the window, clutching the ivy tightly as she hung suspended above the path below, her feet searching for purchase in the vines. She inched her way down, the dress hampering her speed, and the pain in her torso limiting her movements.

* * *

Gandalf, Elrond, and many others had been extremely relieved when Frodo Baggins had awakened that morning, the resilient hobbit drained and confused, but luckily alive.

The other Halflings, Sam, Pippin, and Merry had been overjoyed, insisting that they show Frodo around the Elvish city, and Lord Elrond had agreed to their request, so long as Gandalf and at least one other responsible person accompany the four hobbits, partly to ensure that the still sickly Frodo remained all right, and mostly so that the others, Merry and Pippin in particular, stayed out of trouble.

And so it happened that Gandalf, Strider, and Lord Glorfindel of Imladris, were walking with the four hobbits about the paths that surrounded the House of Healing.

Frodo was looking about him in awe of the Elf Haven, whilst his friends rambled on about their experiences over the past several days while they had been waiting for him to recover from his wound.

They had been walking for about half an hour, slowly for Frodo's sake. Suddenly Pippen's voice interrupted the conversation between the wizard, the man, and the elf lord.

"Um, Gandalf, sir?"

"Not now Peregrin Took, can you not see that I am in the middle of a conversation?" The wizard reprimanded the young hobbit, tired of his constant foolishness.

"But Gandalf!"

"Hush!"

"Gan-"

"I said to be quiet! You will be patient!"

Pippin frowned and set his feet in Gandalf's path so that the wizard would have to stop in front of him.

"Move aside young Took, you are being extremely rude today."

"Gandalf, I just wanted to know why that elf lady is climbing down a wall!" The hobbit cried, pointing far along the path where what looked to be a dark-haired elleth, clothed in a loose, white gown was slowly making her way down the ivy covered wall.

Gandalf followed his arm, his face showing surprise when they alighted on the figure before darkening in exasperation and anger.

"That foolish girl, I told Elrond not to put her in a room with a window, I told him." The wizard could be heard muttering as he hurried his steps towards her, the others staring at him in surprise and curiosity.

"_Adraestia min Syliandor da Illyon!"_ The wizard roared. "What in Eru's name do you think you are doing?"

The girl gave a startled cry at Gandalf's shout, her grip slipping in her surprise, and she was sent tumbling toward the earth, barely aware of the exclamations of several voices as she fell.

* * *

Adraestia had been about half way down the wall, the wounds to her torso aching bitterly. So concentrated was she on ignoring the pain and making it down the wall, that she did not notice the quiet mumbling of approaching voices, until a very familiar voice came roaring up at her.

Her eyes widened in surprise at Gandalf's angry words, and so did her fingers.

She realized too late that she had lost her grip and shut her eyes tightly as she fell through the air.

But instead of a painful landing on the hard ground, she found herself caught by a pair of strong arms.

After a moment she slowly peeked her eyes open, taking in the handsome face of the grinning elf who held her tightly against his chest.

If not for the fact that a very angry wizard was swiftly approaching, and her stomach and ribs were hurting terribly, the Faerie would have been fighting tooth and nail to escape the hold of the elf, but as it was she shrunk closer to the warm body as Gandalf neared wielding his staff, still shouting, a small crowd of assorted people behind him.

* * *

There had been a collective sigh of relief when one of the sons of Elrond had turned around the bend in the path and run to catch the falling girl just in time, but still Gandalf advanced, shouting in an unfamiliar language, and so they followed.

The girl, who was pressing herself against the elf prince, looked to be an elf at first glance, her skin pale, though whether naturally or from fear they did not know, her hair long and flowing, dark in color, her ears delicately pointed, but her eyes were like no other elf they had seen, a mixture of grey and blue, unlike the uniformly brown and blue, and occasional grey exhibited by the family of Elrond. And there was a certain wildness about her that was so unlike the elves, a raw savageness.

Gandalf had resumed his torrent of speech in the Common tongue, still berating the strange girl.

"What did you think you were doing you foolish child? Chasing after a Wraith like that? And on your own I'm presuming, your sister would not act with such stupidity! And then not eating your meals, and falling out of windows, have you no sense whatsoever, or do you just have a death wish?"

She had relaxed in the arms of the amused elf while Gandalf continued in his lecture, no longer paying attention to him, her eyes wandering over the people gathered around them, looking at the hobbits with glancing curiosity before resting her gaze on the ranger, a feral smile crossing her face.

"And you are not even listening to me, why am I not surprised?" Gandalf ended with a sigh as he saw her eyes drift to Strider.

"Did I not tell you we would meet again at the dawn of a great war?" She asked, her voice raspy from misuse and sleep, but still lilting.

The ranger smiled in recognition and bowed slightly. "Indeed you did, Lady Adraestia, and here your words have come true."

"And what might I call you this time, my lord, for I assume what you went by before does not apply?"

"You may call me Strider, or Estel, whichever is your preference."

"Strider it is then, for I will not call you that which the Elves have named you."

Everyone save Gandalf was looking between the two in confusion, but before any questions could be asked the Lord of Imladris rounded the bend, his flustered advisor Erestor following in the wakes of his billowing robes.

"I see our mysterious guest has finally awakened." Elrond said dryly as he reached them, a frown of disapproval on his face.

"Ah, Lord Elrond of Rivendell, I presume." She replied coolly, settling herself more comfortably in the arms of her rescuer. "Might I ask for the return of my clothes and the path out of your city so that I may be on my way?"

The Elf lord looked startled. "Certainly not, you are in no way recovered. You will be taken back to your room immediately, and will not be leaving it until you are fully healed, unless you wish to join us at the feast tonight."

The girl merely shrugged. "As you wish, I was only trying to save you the trouble of cleaning up the mess, blood does have a nasty tendency to stain."

Elrond raised an eyebrow. "I assure you, there will be no blood spilled here, by you nor any of us."

She grinned that fiendish smile again, looking up at him innocently. "You can tell that to me, but when my sister arrives she will be intent on killing me, could be messy."

Gandalf sighed heavily. "So Aerawyn was with you?"

"Oh no, Mithrandir, of course not, she was no where near when I took off after the Wraith. But she is growing nearer as we speak, and I assure you she shall be very angry."

The Elf holding her chuckled silently, but she could feel the slight shaking of his body as he grinned.

Elrond made no reply to her comment. "Let us return you to your room then, Elrohir make sure she is settled in and not going anywhere."

"Of course, father." The elf responded, turning and walking along the path, Gandalf and the others following save for the golden elf lord who remained with Elrond.

Adraestia barely hid her surprise at discovering her savior was the son of Lord Elrond, but she did, and was quite content to stay silent for the rest of the journey back to her prison.

Upon entering the plain room, Elrohir gently laid the girl on the bed before taking a seat in the lone chair to watch her.

"Care to explain why you were chasing a Wraith?" Gandalf asked as he entered the room behind the curious hobbits.

"No."

"Adraestia, if you do not tell me I will send off a beacon to guide your sister here, and she will find you all the quicker."

The girl frowned at the wizard. "Fine, we were fighting in Lyrn, there was a messenger in trouble so I went to help him. I had just finished killing the orcs when I heard the Wraith's cry and immediately set out after it."

"And how did you end up in the Hoarwell?"

"After four days I cornered it in the cliffs of the Misty Mountains, we fought, I stabbed it but my sword had no effect, it slashed me and pushed me off the cliff, I managed to dig my dagger into the cliff-face, but it was striking at me and the dagger was slipping so I let go. End of story." She ground out, staring moodily at the ceiling.

"Very well, then I will alert the guards at the gates of our impending guests so that they will not be withheld." The wizard said, turning to withdraw from the crowded room.

"Bu-but you just said you wouldn't show her the way!" The suddenly panicked girl cried, attempting to sit up, though her efforts for thwarted by an amused Strider.

"I will not be aiding her in any way my dear friend, but you know as well as I that she will arrive soon enough."

Adraestia growled as the door closed once more, six pairs of eyes staring at her, five in curiosity, the other with humor.

"Um, excuse me miss, ma'am, uh, my lady." One of the hobbits squeaked.

She turned her eyes to him, an eyebrow raised in inquiry.

"What are you?"

"I'm a Faerie, what are you?"

"I'm a Hobbit, or Halfling if it pleases you. The name's Peregrin Took, but you can call me Pippin." He wore a silly grin on his face and performed a sloppy bow, and she could not help but giggle at the silly creature.

"And the rest of you?"

"Meriadoc Brandybuck, or Merry." The other blond with curly hair.

"Samwise Gamgee." The more rotund Halfling who stood protectively near the frail looking one.

"Frodo Baggins at your service, my lady." He had brown hair and blue eyes, and a certain weariness about him that made her uneasy and a little sorry for him.

"Adraestia of Illyon at yours good sirs."

"And how have you been these last years, Adraestia? How long has it been? Fifty since we parted?"

"Nearly so I would suppose. And we all have been doing as well as can be expected."

"As well as can be expected?" The Elf, Elrohir asked.

"Yes, princeling, while you and your kin reside safely here in your city our lands and people are attacked, Faeries are killed everyday, and everyday new battles arise, and still the hordes of Mordor continue to pour into our forests and mountains, killing innocents and burning our cities."

The elf's eyes grew cold. "Do not think we sit idly by while the rest of the land suffers, nay lady, my brother and myself even ride with the Dunedain for several years at a time in order to check the forces of evil. You do not even care for the world outside your realm, you remain within your borders, hiding, not even able to cleanse your home."

She hissed at him in anger, trying to leap at him, Strider once again holding her down on the bed.

"Oh, a few years at a time? How very noble of you. I haven't even seen my home in over two decades. I've been fighting in the lands of others, stemming the flow of orcs and uruks from Mordor who have invaded us. The men think they have it so difficult in Gondor? They only get the few divisions that get lost on the way to our realm."

The hobbits looked uncomfortably between the two angered immortals, Strider also did not seem to know what to do.

Fortunately the situation was resolved with the timely return of Gandalf, who upon seeing the tension between the Faerie and the Elf promptly relieved the prince from his guard duty and sent the hobbits and Strider on their way.

* * *

"But I don't want to go!" She was whining like a youngling and they both knew it.

"Would you rather I drugged your food or would you like something to eat, to perhaps talk to some Dwarfs and Hobbits?"

"But there will be elves there, and the dress is so heavy, and I don't know how to put it on." She crossed her arms and pouted.

"Adraestia, stop acting like a child, if you don't know how to put they dress on I will call for an elleth to help you."

"No! I can do it myself."

"I rather doubt that."

"Out! I'll prove it to you."

Gandalf left the room chuckling before she realized he had tricked her.

She scowled and picked up the bulky material. Sometimes the old man acted too much like a Faerie for his own good.

He knew there was no way she would back out of it, she would seem like a coward.

Sighing in resignation she pulled off the white gown, letting it pool to the ground, before picking up the sheer shift and slipping it over her head, settling it on her shoulders comfortably. The top layer was a deep cobalt blue with a low, but modest, neckline, tiny pearls and silvery embroidery decorating the collar, and the draping sleeves were translucent, starting dull blue fading away to white. All in all it wasn't a bad dress, it wasn't of Fae quality, but it wasn't bad.

She slipped the heavy material over her head, mindful of her injuries, missing the wonderful lightness of Fae clothing. The dress flowed softly around her feet, swishing as she moved to pick up the mithril belt that lay on her bed.

All that was left was hair and other adornments.

A small mirror had been placed in the room for her use, and she stood before it absently brushing her horribly tangled locks, wincing every time the bone comb snagged on a knot.

After many a long minute, her long hair was combed and free of tangles, falling gently past her past in a dark river. She slipped a plain mithril circlet into her hair and pulled on a pair of slippers.

'And he thought I couldn't do it.' She thought smugly to herself, appraising her appearance one last time in the mirror before going to the door to surprise the wizard.

He stood beside her door, smoking his wipe and twiddling his thumbs, straightening as she opened it.

"Ah, Adraestia, lovely as always. You have proven me wrong, you do know how to dress yourself."

She merely stuck out her tongue impishly before taking his arm, allowing him to escort her to the dining hall.

They passed few elves on the way to the hall, though the noise of talking and music gradually increased as they approached a set of double-doors.

The doors were swung open by a pair of guards, and into the brightly lit hall they swept. A party of Dwarves was clustered in one corner of the room, and Men were in another, Gondorian by the looks of them. Other than the hobbits, of which there were now five, a much older one having joined the four from earlier, the room was overflowing with the blond and dark heads of elves.

Few paid mind to the entrance of the wizard and the lady on his arm, and soon Gandalf left Adraestia to her own devices after forcing her to promise to try not to cause trouble.

She had just decided to pay the burly dwarves a visit when a firm hand on her arm stopped her, and she was turned around to face the smiling visage of Elrohir, another curious looking elf, a blond, behind him. She was rather shocked at his apparent forgetfulness, he even went so far as to look confused when she glared at him frostily.

"Unhand me you piggish elf, or would you rather continue our previous conversation with blows rather than words?"

His grip went slack in surprise and she pulled away from him, stalking towards the dwarves.

Behind her the blonde elf was laughing at his friend's misfortune.

"Not very good with the females, are you Elladan?"

"Be quiet, Legolas" The oldest child of Elrond muttered wondering how the Faerie was mad at him when he had never even spoken to her before.

"My friends!" Adraestia called as she neared the short statured folk.

"We be not friends with elven-kind, lassie, go find some of your own." One of the younger looking dwarfs growled at her in his guttural accent.

Her face darkened and she fairly snarled in reply, her good mood swiftly slipping away from her.

"Do not mistake me for an elf, my friend, I am as much an enemy of their kind as you."

The dwarves looked surprised.

"You, you're of the Fae, aren't you?"

With her nod of confirmation bright smiles broke out amongst the Dwarves and they swiftly made room for her.

"Come right over and sit with us Lassie!"

She grinned at the immediate acceptance and joined their group, joining in with the tales of mountains and treasures.

As a Faerie, she didn't particularly like being under ground, it being an acquired lifestyle for the people of Loew who lived in the mountains. However she did enjoy the company of Dwarves with their harsh personalities and stories of old, of dragons and jewels and treasures unimaginable.

"Tell us Lassie, do they still find gems as big as me head down in those mountains of yours? Where the caverns shine like the brightest sun when lit by firelight for all the stones in the walls?"

"Aye my friends, the mountains of Loew are as rich in jewels as the most fruitful of your tunnels, it has been many a year since I have seen them myself, but it truly is a magnificent sight."

"Oh!" Exclaimed another Dwarf. "Just to walk through such a place would fulfill my greatest dreams!"

She laughed at their consecutive murmurs of agreement.

"Perhaps one day my good Dwarves, perhaps one day. Alas they are mined no more, for all of the Faeries of the region are needed to defend their land."

The Dwarves nodded in understanding, they too had been driven from their mines.

A long while she spent with the Dwarves, but then she bid them farewell and crossed the hall with the intention of speaking to the Hobbits, the interesting little people had intrigued her.

Half way across she was accosted once again, this time by Strider.

"Adraestia!" He called to her, and she stopped, eyes narrowing when she saw those who followed him, it was Elrohir once more and the blond.

"Strider, how very nice to see you, now if you would please excuse me I intend to go find some politer company.

"Wait! I just wanted to introduce my foster-brother and a friend of ours."

"I have already met your brother, thank you, and I'm sure not knowing the name of another elf will do me no harm."

Strider laughed at that. "Nay, Adraestia, you have met Elrohir."

She began to speak but then stopped herself, comprehension crossing her features. "Twins."

"Correct my lady, I am Elladan." The elf who looked like Elrohir said with a smile while taking her hand and lightly kissing the back.

"Well at least one of you has manners, I'm afraid your parents may have mistakenly found a goblin along the road one day and kept him as your brother."

Both the elves, and Strider laughed at her comment.

The blond stepped forward. "I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, of Mirkwood."

She nodded her head at him. "Another princeling, eh. Seems like the royals are sticking together." And with a pointed look at Strider she turned and resumed her course towards the Halflings whilst the two elves questioned their friend about how she knew who he was.

It was not long after that an Elvish guard entered the room, looking flustered and searching for Lord Elrond.

Behind him came four cloaked figures, one in dark blue, one in light blue, one in green, and one in red.

A hush settled over the hall as the four entered the room, all attention focused on them and Gandalf stepped forward with a smile.

The figure with the dark blue cloak stepped forward and pulled the hood from her head, pushing the fabric of the cloak backwards so that her body was visible.

Those that had met Adraestia stared in shock, had they not seen her dressed in Elvish finery mere moments before they would have sworn she was the girl before them now.

She had the same long dark hair, though hers was braided and filthy, the same skin, the same eyes, and height and body. If Adraestia stood before a mirror they could not be more alike. The light armor of mithril and leather she wore shone brightly in the light of the fire, but was covered in a thick layer of black orc blood, some smears fresher than others. A familiar frown graced her face, and she tapped the sword in her hands impatiently. She looked like a fearsome goddess in the firelight, her hair and face bathed in the glow as she stood proudly before them.

"Mithrandir! Where is she?" She addressed Gandalf, and even her voice was the same.

"And why would you like to know, my dear?"

"Because I am going to kill her, that is why!" She exclaimed, brandishing the lovely weapon held tightly in her grasp. If anyone were against her proposal none spoke for they were so surprised by the entrance of these strangers, three of whom still stood cloaked before the door.

The girl scanned the hall and found her mark amongst a crowd of small people, a guilty smile upon her face.

"Adraestia!" She growled, stepping towards her double with graceful, deadly speed.

Many looked ready to protest when she raised the sharp blade, but were silenced once more when the girl in the armor tossed the blade to the girl in the dress, who caught it with ease, turning the short sword in her hands almost reverently.

The newcomer took advantage in Adraestia's distraction and tackled the girl to the ground, sitting on her to hold her down while the injured girl protested the abuse to her ribs.

"What did you think you were doing, you idiot! Could you not have waited five minutes for us to catch up you stupid, reckless girl? Do you know how it felt finding your swords on the cliff, with no sign of you? And then that dagger in the cliff-face, and the horse? Do you have a death wish?"

"You're starting to sound like Mithrandir." Came the unconcerned reply.

The formerly ranting girl stopped short, a look of horror on her face. "Oh Valar, I am. Really though, how far do you think that drop was? Do you think we have any cliffs that high we could try it from back home?"

Adraestia, still laying trapped beneath the other girl, appeared unaffected by the sudden change in conversation, but the elves who were approaching were flabbergasted that the formerly angered female was now casually asking her look alike how high she thought the cliff she had nearly died falling from had been."

"Would some one please explain what is going on?" A frustrated looking Elrond asked as he neared the two.

"Lord Elrond, this is Aerawyn, my sister. Wyn, this is Elrond, Lord of Rivendell." Adraestia began with a flourish.

The identical sons of Elrond approached behind their father.

"So, you have a twin as well?" One of them, she wasn't sure which, said with a devilish grin on his face.

"Unfortunately." Gandalf interrupted with a frown. "Now if the two of you are quite finished causing a disturbance, some of us would like to eat."

"Of course, Mithrandir, we shall be leaving immediately."

"Oh, but won't you stay? It is after dark and there's really no point in you leaving yet." Frodo's small voice offered as he stared at the surprised warrior with his hopeful eyes, even as the other blue-cloaked figure moved forward to caution her friend.

Adraestia laughed at the dilemma on her sister's face.

"Come, Wyn, not even you can refuse a Halfling!"

Aerawyn sighed, but finally conceded.

"Would you like to change first?" Elrond asked diplomatically, glancing down at the filthy armor she wore.

The Faerie merely raised an eyebrow. "Into what, pray tell? I did not pack a gown with the intent of finding my sister."

"We would be happy to lend you one, my lady."

"No thank you. Which reminds me, why are you wearing an elvish gown, Dreya?"

"Would you rather I had gone naked?"

"Truthfully? I'm surprised you didn't." Was Aerawyn's reply, much to the amusement of the twins and the dwarves who had approached.

The other blue-clad Faerie joined them, removing her own hood to reveal her golden skin and hair, and inappropriately short armor with no leggings to be seen beneath, causing many a scandalized whisper to spread through the hall, to which she paid no mind.

"Dreya, you should have seen Wyn since you ran off like that, she was in a right state. Half the time she was cursing you to the depths of the Halls of Mandos, and the rest she was praying to Eru that you lived. It was rather amusing to watch."

"Kilana, it is good to see you as always." Gandalf said as they moved towards the tables, Aerawyn motioning for their traveling companions to join them. After removing herself from her sister and helping her to her feet.

Elrond motioned for extra places to be added to large table. Adraestia and Aerawyn found themselves across from the Elvish twins, with Gandalf across from Kilana, and Lyander and Cælenia flanking them.

"Would you care to introduce me to your new friends?" Gandalf asked as he settled himself into his seat.

"Lyander of Rhydderch." Aerawyn said with a nod to the blond male on her left.

"And Cælenia of Gaenor." Pointing to the female on Kilana's right.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mithrandir." The two chorused with a polite nod before resuming their silence.

"Now, what have the three of you been up to since last we met?" The wizard inquired, seeming not to care that several of the elves were listening in on their conversation.

"That is a conversation meant for a more private place, Mithrandir." Aerawyn said firmly, tossing her hair over her shoulders as she looked at the newly bought in food with trepidation. There were meats, and fruits, and breads, and soups, a whole assortment of foods placed on her plate by the servants.

Light chatter was to be heard throughout the long tables, and many a curious glance sent towards the Faeries, but they remained reclusive, speaking amongst themselves in their strange tongue, ignoring the blatant staring of the twins and the wood-elf.

It was not until after the fulfilling feast, when many were adjourning to the Hall of Fire, that Elrond and Gandalf guided the three Fae ladies to a separate room to conference, the Fae soldiers, as well as the sons of Elrond and Thranduil, remained outside.

"Now then, as soon as I have made sure your sister is healing properly, I assume you will leave?" Elrond asked, offering seats to the women, who declined.

"Actually, Lord Elrond, we have another reason to be here, aside from collecting my irresponsible sister." Aerawyn stated, ignoring Adraestia's snort of inignation.

"And what might that be?" The Elf Lord asked, already knowing the answer.

"Before we left after Adraestia we happened upon a curious message, news of a council betwixt the races of Middle-Earth, though it seems our invitation has been lost."

"The messenger Dreya mentioned." Gandalf mused with a nod.

"My apologies, we had no contact with you for such a long time, we assumed you would prefer to be unconnected with us, content to keep your borders safe." Elrond said stately, though he appeared a bit ashamed.

"You still could have at least sent a missive." Adraestia muttered with a frown, Aerawun sending her a warning look.

"Well, my lord, my Queen has sent us with strict orders to attend this council and be a part of its descion."

The Elf Lord did not look pleased with her words but conceded with a nod of his head.

"As you wish, the three of you will be permitted to attend, though I warn you some may be against it."

"Thank you, Lord Elrond." Aerawyn bowed diplomatically, before exiting the room, her friends following.

* * *

That evening they did not join the others in the Hall of Fire, but remained in the rooms Lord Elrond had given to them, discussing the next day's council and what they would do afterward.

Late into the night Kilana and the twins stayed awake, sitting in the large window that graced the twins' suite, staring out at Rivendell as it slept peacefully, bathed in the soft glow of the moon.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Good? Bad? In-between? Let me know. :)


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